


Blow your smoke to fog up the mirror (write our name in hearts)

by reygrets



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Omega Rey, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 04:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reygrets/pseuds/reygrets
Summary: Of course, this lecture is on the opposite side of the spacious campus, and she’s practically running from the titillating two-hour long Thermodynamics class. It was an introductory session, mostly that ‘get to know you’ crap and going over the syllabus, but the content she saw listed was a high that would carry her through anything--- even classic lit with Professor Solo.Or so Rey had thought, trying to slip into the lecture-hall without drawing too much attention. Unfortunately for Rey, the doors are heavy, old, and they slam even when you try to shut them gently.The man standing at the head of the class stares her down, and oh no.Rey's hot teacher (who probably already hates her) is an Alpha.She takes a seat in the back row, nearest to a half-open window and gulps up the mediocre breeze that lists lazily into the classroom.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Re-uploading old fics folks, bear with me as I do so. I missed these kids, and look forward to writing more of them.

It’s the first day of her Sophomore year.

  


Rey’s twenty (and a half) years young, facing down the long, winding path of a mechanical engineering degree with an intricate mixture of excitement and apprehension sitting like a lead weight in her gut.

  


Excitement, because a full-ride scholarship is heaven-sent for someone who has scrimped and pinched to make do since she aged out of foster care when she was seventeen.

  


Apprehension though --- apprehension might win out.

  


This is the first school of its kind; blanketed across international headlines for its daring endeavor: coexistence. The only inner-designation university, betas, alphas, and omegas all living on the same campus, taking the same classes and leading interwoven lives.

  


Of course, that bit had been omitted from the letter that had proclaimed her the winner of the Naberrie Scholarship for Academic Excellence, but Rey probably should have read the fine print on the application first. 

  


Well, she’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this one’s got really sharp teeth and a nagging ability to remind her that she, a young omega, will be trapped in rooms with every mix-matched variety.

  


Maybe they’ll give out complimentary nose plugs?

  


She’s a grown up in all respects and she should be fine. It’s not like they’re all animals, they’re human beings, most of them adults, and fully capable of handling themselves without pouncing on the first person to come too close, who smells too good.

  


Living on campus had been a no-brainer though, not having to fit rent into her budget, meaning the sleepy little college town around them was no longer a threat to her pocketbook. Still, still, though, she’s afraid. But that just might be first day jitters.

  


She’s pleased to found out they don’t double-bunk alpha’s with omegas, so her roommate is another omega named Rose and they hit it off immediately. They’ve got the same taste in music, the same exact bed-set from target, and they are both in mechanical fields. Rey’s the behind the scenes type, where Rose is hands-on and her coveralls are always covered in motor oil, grease, primer, or some combination thereof. Rey thinks she’s never liked someone as much as she likes Rose, and it’s nice to know she’s got some sort of support system, because she’s new to the East Coast, new to the States. She’s completely alone out here and evidently part of some good-will social experiment.

  


If the school goes to shit, she hopes her credits transfer.

***

Rey’s looking over her class list with mild annoyance -- having to finish her general education felt like a redundancy from college overseas -- there, she’d been able to take classes specific to her future interests, but now they’re asking her to revisit basic arithmetic (as if she doesn’t have a background in Physics and Applied algebra), and worse --- classic literature.

  


It’s nothing personal against the ‘greats’, only she’d rather be reading out calculations than prose and she’s never been a girl fond of flowery words -- they felt fake, broken, pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit into the shapes in her mind. She can respect them, recognize the importance literature has played in the shaping of the world but that doesn’t mean she wants to dedicate twelve precious weeks of her time deciphering Ray Bradbury, or George Orwell.

  


Of course, this lecture is on the opposite side of the spacious campus, and she’s practically running from the titillating two-hour long Thermodynamics class. It was an introductory session, mostly that ‘get to know you’ crap and going over the syllabus, but the content she saw listed was a high that would carry her through anything

  


\--- even classic lit with Professor Solo.

  


Or so Rey had thought, trying to slip into the lecture-hall without drawing too much attention. Unfortunately for Rey, the doors are heavy, old, and they slam even when you try to shut them gently. She fixes the aged oak with a scowl before turning to face the origin of a very pointed throat-clearing--

  


And it’s the really pretty man standing at the head of the class, and he’s silently staring her down, and _oh no_.

  


Rey's hot teacher (who probably already hates her) is an **Alpha.** That much she can immediately tell. He’s tall, tall tall tall like the trees that line the pathways, guiding foot traffic -- he could serve a similar purpose, all brooding, broad features pulled into a passive expression. Even in his professional attire, Rey can see the lines of muscles that have him as a biological apex, the top of the top and whenever he bends his arms to speak more effectively with his hands (and gods -- those fingers of his are long and --- ), it showcases the raw power hidden by cotton and tweed. 

  


She needs to _stop_.

  


His dark eyes track her, but he resumes speaking, evidently nonplussed. Rey’s hindbrain informs her that she shouldn’t upset him, that she was doing it all wrong and her embarrassment should be based in her empty womb and not the snickering and side-long glances of her fellow students.

  


She takes a seat in the back row, nearest to a half-open window and gulps up the mediocre breeze that lists lazily into the classroom, praying it’ll soothe the fire that’s taken up in her throat and lungs. It doesn’t, it mocks her with puffs but the day is thick, slow, heavy in the way that Spring yawns into the summer term. The humidity isn’t helping her any, either, and Rey wants to melt into the scent that assaults her after it's stolen away.

  


He smells like a sunset, that whiskey warmth that seeps into your bones and the delicate wind carrying honey, musky tones-- it’s like woodsmoke curling into her lungs but it’s sandalwood, vanilla, and gingersnap cookies toasted over the warmth of his soft ocher eyes. It's like every cliche she’s ever read about an Omega smelling their Alpha for the first time. Her instincts are supplying where experience falls behind.

  


Professor Solo was undeniably beautiful, and Rey hates that she’s more focused on how he paces than anything he’s saying while he does. He makes use of the ample space at the head of the hall and it still somehow feels too little, or that he’s some sort of beast caged by the academic stage. Rey’s never been the sort of Omega to go all soft around the middle over an Alpha -- not that she’s been around that many, but enough for her to know this, whatever it was, wasn’t the status quo.

  


So he’s over there, looking like that, and Rey’s sweaty from running as much as she had to try (and fail) to make it his class on time. Her t-shirt, dark blue and emblazoned with the ‘NASA’ logo, was sticking to her skin and she feels like her denim cutoffs are chafing more than normal. Her ankle socks keep slipping down into her vans and when she goes to adjust them she notices that one is green and the other's pink. A great start to her collegiate career, mismatched, helter-skelter, and sweating bullets.

  


_Why was this classroom so fucking hot?_

  


Rey fans herself with the worn cover of her textbook; a used copy with a dozen names scrawled on the insert slip and when she squints, she swears one of them says ‘Ben Solo’ in a big, lazy script. She lifts her eyes from it, and looks to where he’s scrawled some vague bullet points on the chalkboard -- dissimilar enough for it to be a coincidence but Rey finds her fingertips tracing the faded ink with curiosity more evocative than the whole of his lecture.

  


To be fair, though, she hasn’t been listening.

  


If anyone else in the class was as bored or bothered as Rey, they don’t show it. Now that they’ve all settled back into the deep timbre of their Professor’s drawl, she chances a cursory look around the room. Everyone seems calm, albeit disengaged, but she’s got pit stains and her thighs feel like sandpaper and maybe she’s coming down with something. A fever? On the first day, it would be her luck.

  


She does try to take notes, for what it’s worth - absently picking up on words as they break through the din of her mounting headache. It starts behind her eyes and she’s only thinly aware of him calling their time together to an end.

  


“And for those of you who were _late_ \-- please come upfront to collect a syllabus. Don’t worry, I’ll give you time to think of your excuses.” Solo’s loud when he wants to be, and the undercurrent through his words send a shockwave through her core.

  


The biological hardware to obey anything like a command has her Omega pheromones in a tizzy, Rey feels shame hit her in a wash of cold that curbs whatever had been stirring uneasily before. She’s going to have to up her suppressants and invest in a lot of water of she wants to make it through his class.

  


Rey’s mouth feels dry when the room empties and she’s collecting her things as slowly as she can manage - as if he might opt out of forcing their introductions. He won’t.

  


He’s sitting behind his desk, scribbling furiously in what looked like a journal and while Rey’s footsteps had been deceptively quiet, his head snaps up the moment she’s made her way up to him, the breeze from before comes rushing back, enough to ruffle the ends of her hair.

  


There’s a moment of heavy silence, she drinks it in with parted lips.

  


His nostrils flare, his brown eyes blacken and when his fingers stir from where they’d stilted, and when his throat bobs that Rey realizes she’s been staring at him, and she was trembling too.

  


“Miss Jinn, I imagine.” He looks at a list of names and notices hers had been circled several times in red.

  


“Yeah, it's _erm_ \-- Rey. I’m Rey.”

  


“I see that. I’m Professor Solo.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder to gesture where it'd been written in large, block letters. Rey smiles.

  


“Introductions aside, it doesn’t speak well to your work ethic if you’re late on the first day of class.” His words catch on his teeth and Rey can’t help but flinch a little, taking an ungainly, half-step back. It sounds like he’s personally offended by her tardiness, _odd_, but not enough for her to outright question it.

  


Rey bows her head a bit, chewing on her lower lip. She’s never liked people raising their voices or speaking sternly, but parts of her don’t mind the shapes it takes in his mouth.

  


“My class right before yours is in the science wing -- clear opposite end of the campus.” She forces a bit of nervous laughter trying at levity to ease this snapping, hissing tension, but Professor Solo’s staring at her, unflinching; her eyes drop to his lips on a reflex, and it looks like he’s switched to breathing through his mouth (was it the sweat? She had remembered deodorant this morning -- Rey double checked).

  


“Perhaps you should talk to your guidance counselor about switching, then.” Tersely, and Rey’s brows furrow in reply.

  


“Yours is the only available course that completes my GE, I'll find a way to make it work.” She always did, the scavenger girl was incorrigible. But her teacher doesn’t appear satisfied, and his hands have curled into loose fists on his desk, quaking slightly.

  


“Fine.” He sounds annoyed, and it spikes Rey’s own agitation. She’s _just_ about to say her unappreciative rebuttal when he hands her the syllabus and refocuses on whatever he’d been writing before.

  


It’s the craning of his neck to stretch it, that does Rey in -- exposing the scent glands that sit high, just below his jawline where a faint shadow of stubble is creeping across the pale, mole dotted skin. Her legs tremble, and she snatches the piece of paper away, clutching it like a lifeline.

  


“I didn’t know any of the staff were Alphas.” She blurts, after having stood so still she could have disappeared in his periphery. Professor Solo startles at her words, taken aback by the tactlessness.

  


Discussing designation was like talking about income; it looms as a known but you don’t outright say it --- much less ask it of someone.

  


Rey, with her belated presentation, never got the ‘sensitivity’ training that came with the classes about it in primary school - so this, throwing her to the proverbial wolves when she’s built like an adult and as naive as a child, had been a noxious cocktail from the start.

  


“And I didn’t know unmated Omegas went around campus during their heats--” He barks out before regaining himself, clearly straining against … something.

  


She takes another step back, and then another, and then she’s almost running out of his classroom much like she’d entered it earlier.

  


_What the hell had just happened?_

  


It’s like a fever dream. All it takes is Rey stepping out into the clean, Alpha-scent-free quad for her to realize that it wasn’t her. It's him . It’s him and how he smells like memories of a childhood summer she’s never had, longing for it twists in her stomach and it takes all her willpower to rewrite the urges that tell her to go back to him. To the stranger that’s the focal point of the wetness trapped by her unflattering panties and ragged shorts. 

  


This was going to be a very long twelve weeks.

  


\--- wait, what was that he’d said about her heat?


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, my god! He did _not_ .” Rose’s disbelief is echoed by Jessika, their across-the-hall neighbor. All three girls are sitting cross-legged; Rey on her bed, Jessika and Rose and the latter’s, snacking and chattering the day away.

  


Rey’s been sharing the story of how her life was effectively ruined by a pair of pretty eyes, and her friends, fellow Omegas, evidently knew that pain all too well.

  


“It’s worth it.” Jessika quips, swiping peanut-butter from the jar with her finger -- Rey pulls a face but doesn’t comment beyond using an Oreo to pointedly scoop some out herself, fixing Jess with a look. “Like--- fucking an Alpha I mean. Probably better if he’s not your teacher though.”

  


Can you die from blood loss through blushing?

  


She’s never slept with an Alpha, but that’s because they’re few and far between, and finding one that’s _unmated?_ Like seeing a unicorn, winning the orgasm lottery, and getting struck by lighting all at once. Plus, no one likes a desperate Omega thirsting after a knot. They are at the point in progressivism that, with the aid of scent-suppressants, and top-tier birth control, they’ve practically re-written the biological compulsions that define designations as a whole.

  


But Alphas --- there is **no **stopping that, the muscles that line their broad, tall frames, indiscriminate of gender, all Alphas exude power, and control.

  


“I guess,” Rey answers through a mouthful of cookie. But it must have taken too long, and the dejection is clear enough that Jess’ brows raise -- Rose’s too.

  


The two girls speak at the same time. “You’ve never been knotted, have you?” With slack-jaws and wide eyes.

  


Rey groans internally, flopping back against her thin pillows instead of speaking the traitorous words that they already know. She’s slept with beta-boys, and once an omega girl; they’d all been in a desperate endeavor to fill the loneliness in her heart, in her mind, in her soul (in her _cunt_). The sex was good, yeah, but it’s like eating a tootsie-pop without the chocolatey center -- the flavor’s right and the experience is enjoyable, but there’s a hollowness leftover when you’re done. Dissatisfaction guaranteed.

“How’d you handle your first heat?” Rose asks with a genuine tone of curiosity-- she’s always the softest, gentlest of the three. Her compassion is enviable, and Rey wishes that she was able to care as blindly and as baldly as Rose can.

  


Rey’s too jaded, her edges are coarse and her teeth steel-tipped. She’s got a soft heart yeah if you can get to it through the barbed wire.

  


The question, however, stirs a bit of uneasiness in Rey’s gut, and she rolls over onto her stomach to lose the next bought of grumbles into her duvet.

  


“I’ve never had one. Late presentation. Malnutrition. I don’t wanna get into it.” Her tone brokers no argument and shifts the air into something sour.

  


Jessika is the first one to break it, ever brave, ever _bold_. “Rey--- you said he mentioned something about you going … you know, into heat?” The pause forces Rey to her knees, drawing them to her chest to set her chin between the valley it created, she watches her two friends over the frayed edge of her sweats warily. “Well -- in my physical anthropology course last semester we looked at how the evolution of respective designations has changed to fit the demand of that current era, like adapt to survive, you know? And, well, the last time there were so few Alphas on record was like, immediately following the bubonic plague. Of course, Omegas dropped off too.”

  


Rey’s looking at her with one brow raised, she feels the nervousness in her palms, and she’s rubbing them against her thighs to dispel the itch, knuckles cracking and fingers left digging into the bedsheets on either side of her. Her huff is something of a ‘ get on with it ’, and Jessika continues after exchanging a pointed look with Rose.

  


“Like okay so it’s pretty much indisputable fact that we, Omegas, are bound to some sort of instinctual ‘user agreement’, none of us really read before clicking agree-- but when an Omega has a late presentation it usually means there was a shortage of Alpha pheromones around them during puberty -- you said that yourself, that you’ve barely been around any before coming to the states? Well like, you’re in an immersion school now. There’s hundreds of Alphas just up and walking around its --- it likely triggered your heat even through the meds you’re taking. Which, by the way, you should probably have adjusted now that you’re all hot and heavy for your English teacher --- I can smell you, so it’s going to drive him insane if you go to class like that.”

  


Briefly, Rey considers doing just that. It’d serve Professor Solo right after he’d been so needlessly rude and yeah, sure, she’d been late to his class and okay it was the first day --- but it wasn’t deliberate, and still, he’d treated her like it had been a personal slight.

  


Rose stands up slowly, and moves to sit beside Rey, letting her hand rest warmly between her shoulder blades -- bared, by the grungy tank top she wore.

  


“So my asshole Alpha lit prof triggered my first heat -- that’s what you’re getting at?” Deadpanned, Rey picks at the pilled grey fabric of her comforter, sighing heavily while she thinks, but Jessika’s laugh is sharp, and it draws Rey’s focus back upwards.

  


“No I mean -- maybe? But it’s more likely that you’re just around so many for the first time. I was raised on an air force base myself, tons and tons of macho bullshit going on around the barracks so I’ve never had any question as to my designation.” With a bit of a purr and a flourish of her long, dark hair being tossed over her shoulder, exposing the fading love bite on her scent gland.

  


Rey groans again.

  


Everyone around her had a good sense of who they were, or at least a foothold in their identity. Rey’s drifting, aimless, untethered by anything other than her niche interests and the fire burning low in her belly that makes her want to ask the sun for tips on how to fucking _chill_.

  


Her friends leave -- a party, but they politely remind Rey that being in close quarters while in heat wouldn’t be easy, especially considering its a frat party and an absurd amount of those boys were the worst kind of Alphas -- none of whom interest Rey in the least. Not enough to qualify for sharing her first heat.

  


It’s … it’s an intimate thing, isn’t it? Something to be shared, not consumed, not worked through like a complicated algorithm. She’s never experienced what’s supposed to come of a true rut-heat alignment between an Alpha and an Omega - sure, she’s read about it, and worse, watched tactless porn that definitely plays up the old stereotype of Omega’s as sluts to be bred.

  


That was the wrong thought to have, Rey’s thighs flutter traitorously, and she rolls herself up in her blankets, some mindless attempt to sweat this thing out like the flu.

Unfortunately, that’s not how it works.

***

It’s Thursday.

  


The official day two of her heat, and Rey’s previous assumptions that the misery of the hormonal shitstorm had been greatly exaggerated, were terribly, terribly wrong.

  


It’s so much worse.

  


It’s worse than that time she fell out of a tree and broke her arm. It’s worse than the first boy to make her cry. Somehow, it’s like her brain’s sick and her body too, this twisting, writhing misery that has her pawing at her sheets, hunting for friction, for _heat_. For the satisfaction of being made complete by an Alpha rutting inside of her, of being whole, whole, whole --- the emptiness has Rey in pieces, and on more than one occasion, she cries.

  


She can’t miss class; she’d been late to his before and missing the second day would look even worse -- Rey’s miserable, but she’s got the fortitude of a mac-truck slipping down a hillside. Not particularly safe, but it's effective, and she’ll land at the bottom eventually.

  


It is one of the glaring drawbacks of not having been born into financial stability. Rey leans heavily on the generosity of the school, and the detailing of her scholarship had been incredibly straightforward about how many classes she could miss (for what few accounts as a part of her grade-- physics she could choose to show up only for the tests and be just fine), and she can’t burn through them this early in the semester.

  


She dresses in an absurd amount of layers. Her bra is left forgotten; her chest too sensitive, feeling heavy, and full -- but a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, a cardigan, and a hoodie are piled on top. Just jeans would have to suffice, she doesn’t have any long-underwear unpacked because it’s fucking hot out and they’re needless-- only now that she actually needs them, they’re nowhere to be found.

  


Clothes chafe; her skin feels too thick, unyielding, and yet like its worn down to the bone. Every motion is jarring, rubbed raw by the hormones flowing hot and heady within her veins. It’s almost enough for Rey to say ‘fuck it’ and continue her self-imposed quarantine.

  


Almost doesn’t count for much these days.

  


Just to play it safe, Rey leaves her thermo lecture ten minutes early -- able to slip out the door at the back of the hall without anyone noticing. Thankfully, there aren’t any Alphas in her first class --- and only one that she’s aware of in her next.

  


But Professor Solo isn’t just any Alpha, some neolithic part of Rey’s mind offers, and she scowls outwardly -- a poor passing freshman jumps back from her -- she’s been in such a hurry the fact that she’s publicly cursing herself for wanting to get knotted by the guy who has, so far, been nothing short of a prick (his position of authority to her notwithstanding), failed to cross her mind. Rey offers an apology with a facial shrug, still zeroed in on making it to lit on time.

  


She does, miraculously, and if Rey didn’t know better, she’d have thought Professor Solo’s lips twitch into a grin when she slides into a seat in the first row, far right, and pulls out the weathered textbook from her shoulder bag.

  


Sitting by the window was a no go -- it’s particularly breezy today, hot wind, the kind that strips you bare and leaves you dry, but a wind that would stir her scent around all the same. Rey didn’t want to run the risk of sitting far left though, either, because that’s _directly_ across from his desk and she’s pretty fucking sure she’d die. Or he would. Or maybe it’d be simultaneous and poetic and everything she hates about these old, cheesy books.

  


What’s that law? The one where everything goes to shit just because it can? Murphy’s?

  


Well, it’s shadowing Rey, and it’s gunning for blood. The moment the lecture starts, and Rey thinks she’s safe, the vent above her opens up and air-conditioning blasts down over the four square foot section she’d chosen for herself. Out of all this impressively sized classroom, she’s right by the high powered fan.

  


Rey wants to bolt, but there’s a weight cementing her in place. Like sleep paralysis, but she’s wide awake and that churning in her belly starts violently again until she has to bite the inside of her hand to keep from whimpering.

  


Despite her best efforts (which is laughable; as best and smartest aren’t herein interchangeable), Rey has flooded the lecture hall with the ripe scent of her heat. A handful of students murmur, able to pick up on the pheromones that literally branded her as fuckable, ready to be the vessel for some proud Alpha’s seed and Rey’s turn cloak cunt is painting the inside of her jeans in a thick, viscous slick. 

  


She should have stayed in her dorm.

  


The thump of her head against her desk is muted as she throws her arms out and practically cages herself in, trying to be made smaller and smaller until she disappears entirely. It’s ineffectual and Rey’s only thinly aware that everything’s gone absolutely silent around her. She steals a peak from between the tumble of her hair, and her sleeve.

  


Professor Solo is hunched over, his back to the class and from her angle, she can see his hands practically splintering the wooden lip of his desk. He’s not breathing, he’s _panting_ , like a dog that’s run too fast too far for too long and god the sight of him absolutely winded by the chemical reactions sparking through them -- is sending a barrage of signals to her brain, her sex, and the scent glands on her neck in particular.

  


Her body moves a bit of its own volition, jerking back in her seat, pupils blooming outwardly until there’s only a slim green-gold corona around the perimeter, and she lifts her chin. An unconscious sign of submission but oh my _god_, she’s in the middle of class and her teacher looks like ‘making a murderer’s’ season two poster child.

  


Rey recoils from the horrific realization that she was about ready to throw herself at him without preamble, in public no less. She tugs the hood of her jacket up around her face and tests whether or not she’s mastered the ability to dematerialize in the last three minutes.

  


She hasn’t, and her teacher hasn’t moved. The classroom grows restless behind him, some people on their phones but enough are watching him with concern.

  


“Are you okay?” A boy from the middle row asks; he’s got a nice smile, Rey’s seen him around, holding hands with Poe.

  


Professor Solo nods disjointedly, sucking in a sharp breath, visibly through his mouth.

  


“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our lecture short today, class.” It’s clear to Rey that each word is glass in his throat; she can smell it, his agitation, his frustration, confusion but above that, louder as she draws in a breath of her own --- his _need_.

  


The pseudo-compassion for their teacher evaporates and everyone’s in a rush to gather their things as if they had to leave before he came to his senses and made them sit through two more hours of the second day of school.

  


Rey’s bag gets stuck in her haste and she can’t move the stupid theater-style chair back upright because the strap is jammed in the hinges but in order to get it out she has to move it and -- she’s huffing and puffing and it’s one of those moments that self-perpetuate until she almost wants to cry.

  


The fabric rips before she untangles it, and normally she’d gripe about another hand-stitch she’d have to throw but currently, it’s the least of her worries, as she storms away from her desk -- the last person to leave, and walks face-first into Professor Solo’s back.

  


“Oh shit .” Rey’s voice shoots up an octave and the panic in it makes her wince. He shuffles to one side to make room for in the doorway, and Rey tries to slip past him but the moment she’s there and he breathes in (because they’re human fucking beings but right now she wishes she had gills instead of lungs), only to immediately choke, Rey flinches.

  


“Sorry.” God, it sounds like a growl coming from him and she’s sucking sharply on her teeth, caught in this strange limbo of needing to move right now, and being sorely unable to.

  


The sound of someone’s car stereos blaring from the street startles them out of this haze of something that’s not quite _nothing_ and Rey wants to reach up and touch the scattered constellation of moles on his cheeks. His hand had been trapped against the frame and now he’s pulling it back, fingertips ghosting along her back somehow sending sparks through the ten thousand layers she wore. His hand sweeps several inches high of her hip bone before he’s shoved it into the front pocket of his slacks.

  


They both shiver.

  


“I uh. Should have taken your advice.” Rey chews on her words before spitting them out, using the passing breeze through the open door as leverage against the mounting tension. She steps forward once, twice - and she’s out into the open-air hallway practically choking on her held breath. “This was a bad idea.” Coming to class, she means. “I’m sorry if I -- made you uncomfortable I’m---” Her cheeks are bright red and she doesn’t know why she can’t quite manage to shut the hell up. “I’m sorry, Professor. Truly, I am.” The Omega part of her brain, which is playing an admittedly dominant role right now, keens; _yes_, it says, smooth the frazzled edges of whatever tension there is, do right by the Alpha.

  


Professor Solo’s just stares at her, throat bobbing and Rey thinks she might hear the muscles in his jaw snapping from the force in which he clenches it.

  


“It’s Ben.” He says, with a softness that had no business in that unholy mouth of his and Rey’s reeling by the time he, too, powers through this fog of unsolicited sexual tension and marches onward to what she suspects is his office.

  


It’s her fault, she thinks, but he’d looked at her and he’d been a lighter shade of the asshole she’d thought him to be before.

***

The tricky part is, to keep his face off the nameless men in her fantasies when she dulls the edges of her heat with a mediocre vibrator. (designed to meet an Omega’s needs, or so it's advertised for). It’s inadequate, and her cunt only wells up like tears, weeping for what it wants and cannot have. Maybe she can fuck some random Alpha boy, they’d practically been drooling at her on the walk back from class.

  


_No, no_ \-- she doesn’t want to scratch an itch she wants it to mean something. And so, Rey’s resigning herself to the worst long-weekend of her life.

  


\---- and maybe she thinks about Ben when she cums but only because his hands are broad, a spectacular mental replacement for the cold, foreign plastic that thrums against her clit --- and just from his accidental touch, her clothes are stained with his scent, she’s swimming in it, in him.

_Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

Rey doesn’t hate many people, she’s not the most amicable, the most agreeable, but she’s reasonable and usually as kind as she can manage.

  


But she hates her caseworker.

  


The faculty outreach for all scholarship student is, to put it plainly, full of snobby, stuck-up shitstains who wouldn’t know generosity if it bit them on their 401ks. Armitage Hux has been assigned to Rey; to check in on her, ensure her grades are on par with what’s required for her to stay in the program, and get a feel for how she’s fitting in (there’s a lot of questionnaires -- but most of those are about the assimilation protocol), and he’s probably the worst person Rey’s ever met.

  


“I don’t understand.” She’s aware that her eyes are misting --- it’s a byproduct of the severe emotional upheavals throughout the course of her heat. Rey had braved the front offices after a particularly unsatisfying session with her vibrator and markedly dirty thoughts. He’s a beta (all administration is, to keep them clear-headed and unbiased), but he’s looking at Rey with curdled disgust.

  


“In order to make this program efficient, we cannot make designation specific allowances. Can you imagine the media frenzy if they knew Alpha’s received special treatments for their ruts or Omega’s their heats? It’s equatable to grades being exchanged for sex, and we would lose our accreditation in an instant.” _No, you cannot have time off for your pathetic writhing. _

  


He doesn’t have to say it, Rey knows.

  


Hux doesn’t care that her heat not only makes her miserable but anyone and everyone around her. He’s impassive, and she sort of wants to smack him. She might have, actually, if fate wasn’t hell-bent on making her life as uncomfortable as possible.

  


Hux waves her away, “Send in my next appointment, would you?”

  


Rey spends ten seconds fantasizing about his mouth without any teeth and her hands surreptitiously clench at her sides. She nods, though, and steps into the dimly lit waiting room.

  


She gasps. It is loud and terribly embarrassing. Rey wants to sink into the floor.

  


Of fucking course his next appointment was her fucking Classical Lit teacher, why would it be anyone else?

  


“Ben.” Rey wants to say his name as passively as she would the weather (which is hot--- too hot, how is it always warm around him? Does he freelance as a furnace?), but it’s perfectly breathless and she bites her lip hard enough that it stings. “It’s --- Hux says you can go in?” It’s a statement, but her worlds curl uncomfortably into a question. Is this okay Alpha?

  


It takes a moment for Rey to even realize Ben’s frazzled state; he looks threadbare, eyes red, stubble a dark shadow on his jaw that makes her stomach clench. His hands are faintly trembling where they hang listlessly at his side. Rey wants to reach out, to comfort him; and her instincts are railing against her ability to remain rational, reasonable. She’s burning from the inside out but she’s smiling at him like she’s doing just fine.

  


He doesn’t buy it, and when he steps forward (presumably to go into Hux’s office), Rey finds herself stepping forward, too. They’re mirrored, in absurd synchronicity that racks them both with visible shudders -- Rey breathes in deeply to steady herself, but that’s a mistake.

  


His scent isn’t that gentle warmth she’d melt into like a summer day. It is a fire burning like a dwarf star, the compression of its magnetism sits between them and feet turn to inches. She could reach out, she could touch him. Have him.

  


She’s falling in his gravity and every part of her is screaming to just let go, to fall freely.

  


Rey can’t, of course, and this weird dance they’re thrust into ends when Ben steps around her. But he does the strangest thing -- he lifts his hand, palm warm, rough (even as it shakes), and presses it to the side of her neck. His thumb sweeps out a couple of times over her burning scent gland, and every pass of his calloused skin is soothing.

  


The relief is immediate; unseen tendrils of calm clarity slip through his scent and she drinks them up, greedy as she was, and feels the miserable ache, the emptiness abate, if only for a small while. She smiles dreamily up at him, but Ben looks almost like he’s wounded by the act that had calmed her significantly.

  


It must be an Alpha thing, Rey surmises as he turns away, posture stiff (shoulders broad), and slinks into the office. He shuts the door a bit more forcefully than strictly necessary and Rey jumps, throttled out of this dream-state by the sound.

***

Rey prides herself on being smart. It’s not vanity, it isn’t immodesty: she knows she’s sharper than the average student and she’s sort of therein developed this sense of needing to know. To learn. To absorb. It gives her an artificial sense of control over a life that’s slipped through her fingers, sand through an hourglass; a series of coincidences and happenstance.

  


It’s this determined mindset that’s found her curled up with a book about Omega’s in history. They weren’t all subordinates, some of them won wars, lead rebellions, and ruled countries. Reassuring as it was to see all that, it only moves to further cement how little she feels like she’s done --- her designation, currently, has got her in a chokehold, defining the hazy shape of her future with primitive needs and wants.

  


At least she’s alone here when she sniffles a bit. The scent of old books, and dust, faintly like almonds and wood polish, is soothing. No one will bother her on the third floor of the campus library, tucked behind a stack of manuscripts that looks like it hasn’t been touched in _years_. It probably helps that it’s a weekend, and the usual din of students in the lower levels cramming for tests or bickering over projects is absent. It is perfectly quiet, outside of the thick, textured paper sticking to her fingers when she turns the pages.

  


Her heat hasn’t let up, but Rey’s never been the type to wallow. Getting out of her room felt imperative, trapped in the vicious cycle of her own scent and the pitiful looks from Rose when she’s in --- Rey can’t blame her for spending most of her time elsewhere. Aligned cycles are a very real thing and that wouldn’t bode well for any Alphas in their building block.

  


In fact, she’s set down the history book in favor of one that gives a detailed structuring of her anatomy. Of course, Rey knows and understands the mechanics of everything, but as her bodily autonomy fades, fate in the hands of violent hormone swings and the actual, painful drive to fill her cunt with something warm and hard, also does her need to forge control around knowledge’s throat, rise.

  


This is the exact moment, as she thumbs through the book that would be damning in the eyes of any other, is when Ben fucking Solo makes his grand entrance, nose in a book of his own.

  


There’s no ventilation here.

  


Rey stops breathing.

He’s so preoccupied with the task at hand, and with half-full shelves between them, Rey prays to whatever gods might listen that she can remain still enough to not attract his notice, that he would leave, and Rey would be okay.

  


Piety doesn’t pay off.

  


Rey _hears_, rather than sees, Ben breathe in deeply.

  


The air grows thinner and she’s shrinking in on herself as the seconds' tick on. They’re both aware of the other, their scents circling, courting, engaged in an unseen dance as emotions paint their edges in various disquieted tones.

  


He sighs, seemingly resigned to at least acknowledge her.

  


“Rey.” It sounds strained like a warning breaks the back of his resolve. “What are you doing here?”

  


How does he always manage to make it Rey’s fault? Accusatory, perhaps he’s defensive because oh that’s ----

  


Her nose twitches like a rabbit’s.

  


\---- that’s … _rut_.

Rey’s brain is operating as an outside unit; supplying thoughts and feelings, sensations and graphic visuals the moment his coded pheromones break heard against her remnant cognition. Everything is a blur, she doesn’t remember bringing her knees to her chest or sitting up on her haunches. No longer curled back into the stored cushions, the blankets she’d swaddled herself within, left on the floor, forgotten.

  


“I needed --” What did she need? Why had she come here? All ration and reason have gone to the wayside as some small, raspy voice demands that she need him.

  


Ben’s frozen, dark eyes swiveling over her, a twitch under the rim of his glasses anytime Rey so much as flexes her hands.

  


Her hands. The book. _Shit_.

  


Nonchalantly tucking an Omega sexuality encyclopedia under the table wasn’t how she thought her day would go --- least of all hiding it from him. But there she was, half-falling off the chaise lounge that’s backed up between an empty bookcase and a couch from the 70’s.

  


“What did you need?” Ben’s voice is dripping with a warmth that’s thawed every inch of her frigid tension. Rey could melt into it, wrap herself in his scent in place of blankets, in place of clothes.

  


“Um.” She so cleverly replies.

  


Rey might die now, she thinks, fizzles into the numb-sting that has her limbs feeling disembodied. Close, too tight, too much, but far away and ineffectual at gaining her the one thing she wants.

  


Ben takes a halting step closer, conflict twisting his face; hung up on rights and wrongs (regulations and rules), but instinct has them both by the throat and showed no promise of letting go.

  


“You ---- forgive me but --- you’re clearly in distress.” Matter-of-factly, and with a casual twist that belongs on talk radio, not with two thinly caged creatures toeing a line they desperately cannot cross, but somehow know they might.

“Brilliant deduction.” Rey can’t quite stop herself; he’s been an absolute prick from the get-go, designation or no, and this rapidly spiraling situation needs a touch of levity to keep them from leaving orbit. 

  


She wants to hate him, but her biology gives her a hard _no_.

  


“Rey..” Her name has no right sounding that good and it hangs in the air like a spell, piercing this bastion of needless defenses she’s erected by way of denying what existed between them all along. It is more than pheromones, hormones, scents that pool higher and higher until she’s gasping for breath.

  


It is an attraction, as plain and simple as any two people might share regardless of their designation.

  


Only he’s her teacher and she doesn’t know him, he might as well be a stranger (so why does this feel like coming home?) There is no logical explanation for why she’s standing, why she takes small steps his way.

  


Then again, logic had gone out the window a long while back.

  


He’s turned statuesque; like Rey’s an innocent forest creature that he might startle away, or perhaps he’s afraid of her in a very real sense, she could ruin his fucking career, strip away his accolades and leave him a mess.

  


Ben almost says ‘we shouldn’t, but his mouth wraps around his words with tender care. “Come here.” Alpha’s got you.

  


I’ve got you.

  


She’s already headed his way by the time he says it, and so it is with this small concession, that they realize the inevitability of what’s to come.

  


“Do we ---” Here? Rey’s tongue feels thick, her mouth dry, and her mind incapable of catching up to the fact that she hadn’t completed her thought. Ben nods, though, seeming to piece together what threads of communication she’s supplied him with.

  


“It’s better.” He says, but he means: your scent won’t be at mine, mine won’t be at yours.

  


Safer, practical; it makes sense and yet her womb is reeling, she wants to nest and be cradled, warm in a bed and knotted until her legs stop shaking -- or maybe until they start.

  


They’re a foot apart, now, and neither of them possesses the wherewithal to move first and yet they’re both trembling so severely that Rey’s teeth chatter from the force. A soft yelp -- she’s bitten her lip, and that’s all it takes.

  


Ben cranes his neck, posturing his hulking frame to angle just right and gently presses his lips to hers.


	4. Chapter 4

If at all possible, Ben tastes better than he smells. It’s concentrated, pooling like the sweetest of honey on her outstretched tongue, or the warmth of a late summer sun filling her veins with liquid gold. He kisses her, a man starved of what she’s offering by way of eagerness, readiness, and want. Teeth on her lower lip and Rey _keens_, his mouth wraps around her own, it almost feels as if he never meant to let her go.

Slick paints her thighs, her abdominal muscles clenching over nothing, reminding Rey over and over again that she is empty, and how easily it can be rectified.

She’s really going to fuck her teacher, in the library no less. 

Rey’s heat isn't at its worst (thankfully), as it evens out with only two days left in this vicious, upending cycle. She knows the cure-all for it, and it's hard against her thighs from where he’s got her pinned against him.

Ben’s strength is no illusion, his palm follows the dip of her spine, handling her like she wore the finest silks and not a threadbare sweater with an unidentifiable color. He’s got her by the small of her back, as well as the nape of her neck, both of his hands tremble slightly, where they’re molded to her, and Rey burns at his touch.

They’re just kissing but her body has become a livewire, doubts turn to ash, as do her questions in her mouth. Rey wants him, she needs him, there’s only one thing that will help right now and so far he’s done nothing more than kiss her, kiss her like a drowning man filling his lungs up with air, only it’s Rey that keeps him breathing.

It’s very intense without explaining itself, she can scent his need, as now she can feel her own soak through her leggings, leaving a wet patch on the front of his khaki slacks.

An absurd thought intrudes, to apologize for it, like she’d gone and ruined a moment that is refined (hint: no it isn't).

Rey slips her hands up the back of his neck, blunt nails trailing through the stiff hair at its nape; ending when she takes two palmfuls of his thick, black curls and pries him off of her mouth.

Ben growls, and the sound is so deep it rattles through his chest, Rey feels more of it than she hears and for a moment she’s frozen into place by the aftershocks. Her instincts tell her she’s upset an _Alpha_, done something to displease him, and before she can realize it, Rey’s body moves to make amends.

She licks at the underside of his jaw, and she swears to god that Ben purrs. But it’s lower, baser, a masculine, powerful sound but it is still decidedly one that is pleased with her actions. Rey continues on, gentle passes of her tongue, kisses, it isn’t until her teeth graze over it (a thoughtless action) that he reacts.

His hands meet in the middle, engulfing her waist and lifting her with inexorable strength, the ropes of muscle move beneath his sweatshirt, under the pale skin dotted in moles. Ben’s beautiful, but it isn’t something she thinks he knows, huddles in on himself as he moves them to the chaise lounge Rey’d been in before.

“Ben.” Her voice catches, snags on the desire that’s compounding until she’s overfull until she’s bursting at the seams.

Obsidian eyes rove over her, and in them, Rey sees a mirror image of her face, flushed, a tableau of desperation she’s never known before. To her, it might be ugly, contorted by arousal and instincts she cannot even begin to fully understand. Ben… Ben’s just looking at her like she’s single-handedly put every star in the night sky. She doesn’t know what it’s like, to be seen the way he’s seeing her, nothing but reverence, and normally she’d wriggle, uncomfortable at being put on display.

Nothing between them had been normal, not since day one.

“I know.” He murmurs, fingers sliding over her thighs, tucking and curling just into the waistband of her leggings to slowly urge them down, shushing and cooing; ever gentle until he’s finished peeling away the skin-tight fabric, which is admittedly and thoroughly soaked by now, and lets it fall unceremoniously to the floor. “I know baby girl.”

_I’ve got you._

Rey had not been emotionally or physically prepared for him to slip a pet name casually into his praise, and her Omega pheromones spike until she’s swimming in them, barely keeping her head above water but there he is, guiding her through it.

Her Alpha.

Those thoughts are dangerous and damning but Rey’s not strong enough to stop them, not just yet. They feel fairly justifiable with her current state of emotional distress; and even then, she doesn’t voice them.

Instead, Rey’s set to the task of helping him out of his stupid, stuffy oxford. The same one she thinks he wore that first day in class, a powder blue that contrasts his broad, dark features in a way that enhances them without eclipsing the power it houses. Her fingers tremble over each button and she’d swear under her breath if her throat isn't locked up over her stuttering pulse.

Ben invades her senses, and she can’t even blink without her glassy eyes fogging from the shape of him, caging her against the cushions. It is something out of an Omega fantasy novel, she’s certain. Being cared for like this --- aren’t ruts violent bursts of anger and pent-up frustration that Alpha’s try to bury in the cunts of their mates? His fingers, long, calloused at the tips from a hundred thousand pages turned, and treat the latticework of faint muscles over her ribs like a treasure found as he lifts her sweatshirt up.

Inch, by inch. He kisses her skin as it’s revealed to him, humming when he finds a patch of freckles that twist between her breasts. She always thought that they formed a constellation; something nameless, but nonetheless written in the stars. It was silly of her, full of that girl who stared out her bedroom window wondering where her parents were, and if the saw the stars as a place of hope like she did.

Ben sees them as a place to plant soft kisses, maybe someday they would grow, take root and wind through her scar tissue heart and teach her that hands can cradle affection with or without love. That she can belong to someone other than herself.

Even if only for a small while.

He tends to her as if she is the most precious thing he’s ever known. Logically, Rey knows that cannot be true; they’re perfect strangers and yet… something inside of her has awoken, it keens and preens and positively blooms under his attention. His featherweight ministrations that show they aren’t beholden to the powerful hormones surging through them.

Well, maybe he isn’t, but Rey is.

“Ben.” She’s trying to get his attention in the same moment that he turns to nuzzle against her left breast, a flash of his tongue over the rosebud nipple he finds has her head buzzing and words turning to breathless little puffs out of the corner of her mouth.

Ben is going slowly, and, while generally, this amount of foreplay would not only be delightful but necessary to bridge their respective areas of comfort -- time is not their ally here.

Rey moves a little, trying to draw him out of this … trance he’s fallen into. Ben only grunts, palm flat against her stomach to keep her in place while he licks and teeths at her breasts, alternating between them.

She tries again, “ Ben .” A bit more firmly, and that gets a faint growl -- he doesn’t want to stop what he’s doing, and to be frank, neither does she.

But this isn't about wanting.

This is about _need_.

“ Alpha .” Only this time, Rey whimpers it, blunt nails scratching against his scalp; not enough to hurt, but the pressure and intention would be undeniable. Ben freezes, and Rey’s thoughts of ‘finally’ are silenced because he definitely growls, teeth replace his lips and he’s biting the path back up to hers until he’s nipping at her inflamed gland just under her jaw, not entirely dissimilar to how she tends to his own.

He finally seems to put two and two together; if Rey’s urgent pawing, and occasional but frantic look over his shoulder at the door that separates them from the rest of the library, is anything to go by.

This would be a very, very compromising position to be caught in; literally and professionally.

Ben sits back, and drags Rey with him, posturing her just right so she is sitting on his lap and ---when had he undone his slacks? She can feel the heat from his swollen cock blooming between her thighs, trapped still by his boxer-briefs, but his hands make deft, quick work of that.

His cock is beautiful, and Rey actually salivates a bit ( the Heat, blame it on the Heat that’s got you writhing and whining like an alley cat ).

“It’ll be uh, easier to help you this way,” Ben explains, and not for the first time Rey’s inexperience leaves her feeling a little nervous. She’s never been knotted, and has no idea what to expect; all she knows is what her instincts are howling for, what her body is physiologically designed to endure, and that if she doesn’t fuck him right now, she might die.

Possibly, _maybe_.

“Okay.” Her voice is small, a little weak; but Rey’s not second-guessing herself. It’s an undeniable fact of biology as well as a personal and vested interest, that she wants this. Him . Wants to feel him locked inside of her as his cum balms this swirling, blistering heat inside of her.

His throat bobs and Ben seems to consider his words, before declining to speak altogether. _It’s for the best_, Rey thinks. Words broker intimacy and this is to help her, to bring her through this crescendo of fire that’s now hooked tight into her joints. She’s in pain, and empathy flares in his eyes as well as his nostrils; he’s scented her plenty but that last spike of desire has done them in entirely.

Ben moves her bodily, and with blind assistance from Rey’s much smaller hands, positions the bruised head of his cock to line up with her sopping wet sex.

The position they’re in, while gentler on Rey in the long run (and Ben: he can’t contort his absurdly long limbs to have fucked her properly while lying prone), makes the stretch of their first time together that much more of an event.

It’s delicious, in every way she’s ever been told. No beta, nor omega could fill her up like an Alpha can.

Not just any Alpha. Her brain reminds her, and not for the first time, that there’s something about Ben that’s calling to that deep, dark, empty place inside of her and flooding it with warmth.

Or maybe that’s just an emotional visualization of what’s physically taking place between them.

The jury’s out.

Ben’s patient, he gives her the few necessary minutes to acclimate; where he has his arms around her waist, gentling himself if only for her sake. He lavishes her throat in light kisses and Rey’s immediately drunk on the thick cocktail of their interwoven scents. It makes her head feel both heavy and light and her veins thrum with a synchronized pulsing of his cock pressing up against her womb.

She’s ready, and gives him a steeled, albeit glassy-eyed stare. Ben seems to understand, they’ve mastered this language built on silent glances in such a short time that Rey can’t stop yet to wonder how they already fit together so well.

And how he makes her feel alive.

His thrusts up are shallow, thighs taut underneath her and she’s essentially a ragdoll in his lap as he shows the power of his Alpha self over, and over, and over again. The lewd sound of their slick, wet skin is somehow the most erotic thing she’s ever heard; whereas any other time before this, she would have been embarrassed by the natural symphony of sex.

Ben doesn’t make her feel anything other than bliss. Her mind is no longer capable of comprehensive thoughts; it’s a blur of sensations, sounds, scents, and the taste of him on her tongue when she finally, and blindly, meets his mouth with a kiss that’s cut in half by a moan.

His pace is a bit more punishing, as Rey’s pheromones betray her state of arousal, and he academically stokes those flames until she’s panting. She bows forward, resting against the curve of his shoulder and once more, she swears he’s making some sort of cathartic reassuring sound of comfort (a purr; he’s fucking purring), and it radiates warmth through her until it is too hot, too _much_, and she feels a deep, violent burn in her stomach.

She peaks with his name tight to the roof of her mouth, teeth sinking mindlessly into his skin to muffle the sound. Ben does the same, the pulsing of his cock as it's buried impossibly deep inside of her, able to feel every drop of his cum fill her aching womb until the pain is less and less, and then it is no more.

Rey had been so focused on memorizing the hazy shape of this sensation, that his knot had escaped her notice. But now that she’s zeroed in on that, it’s all she can feel.

It is a little odd, to be physically incapable of moving without grotesque discomfort; but it’s also soothing, coming back into her body inch by inch while Ben just licks at her throat. The effect is calming, and Rey’s hindbrain likens it to a cat with its fur all out of sorts and he’s simply smoothing it down, untangling her nerves with care at odds with this single tryst.

_That’s all it is,_ Rey’s telling herself.

Even when his knot starts to soften and neither of them moves. They don’t speak either, but somehow the silence is filled with the same unspoken fear: _don’t go._

When Rey finally moves, it’s only because the sound of laughter echoes up the drafty, empty building and into the third floor. She knows it’s time, to move away but Ben’s arms tighten in the moment before he lets her go, and Rey’s stomach falls to her feet.

She stands, with help from him; her coltish legs wobble a little, but she manages to redress herself just fine on her own. Her heads still foggy, and when Ben’s lips are on her brow, she doesn’t register what it is at first. Goodbye.

Well, at least her heat is under control, and she doesn’t have to see him for three more days after it has ended.

Everything’s fine. Everything’s alright.

So why does she feel like crying?

***

Rey’s home now, though; her window left open while she’d been at the library and now the scent of her urgent needs from earlier have faded. She’s not sure why the tears fall from her eyes, but she’s stripping out of her clothes in order to wash away his scent. A shower would help realistically, but the thought of scrubbing him off of her makes her stomach fold in on itself in a way that’s both unfamiliar, and frightening.

It’s when she’s peeling off her sweatshirt, ponytail stuck to the fabric; that Rose enters, gasps, and Rey lets the shirt fall back down dramatically, panic in her eyes.

Of course, Rey assumes that Rose caught Ben’s scent on her, and she rushes to explain but Rose’s look of terror turns to confusion and Rey can’t quite figure out why there’s pity there, too.

“Is that what I think it is?” Rose speaks slowly, carefully, and steps up to Rey to tug down the neckline at the back of her sweater -- Rey winces, and then... And then she realizes.

She reaches up to touch at the sore skin, feels where it’s broken and her scent continues to blossom through it, calm, content, sated.

_Claimed._

“Fuck.”


	5. Chapter 5

On the long, long list of impossibly stupid shit that Ben Solo has done, this takes the cake.

  
  


He’d fucked a student. Not just any student, his ; someone whose tests he has to grade and essays parse through. She’s sitting like a lead weight in his gut and razor wire behind his eyes. Whenever Ben moves, he feels a thread run tight, drawing his heart forward until the frantic beating is tattooing a bruise to the back of his ribs.

  
  


Sitting alone in the dark of his apartment is a level of melancholy he’s not exactly willing to unpack; or why it feels like he’s half an inch from panicking.

  
  


Rey had been in heat, sure, and it had been a fucking killswitch for his autonomy -- but he’s a human god damned being, not a beast. He should have had the moral wherewithal to refrain; to step back and away until he’d left her alone to writhe ( in pain ) in the library.

  
  


He tries, briefly, to justify it like some act of sexual altruism but he knows, Ben knows way deep down it was selfishness. It had been so long since his rut had found an equal, where he could knot and let his biology flourish when all it’s ever been allowed is denial and disappointment.

  
  


She had begged him, all flushed cheeks and pink lips; and her scent was something heaven sent, it’s veined in wisps through his dreams even now as Ben slips into a restless, too-hot sleep.

  
  


When Ben wakes, and much to his horror, there are tears on his face.

  
  


What the fuck is going on?

  
  


He’s an alpha , the pinnacle of sexual prowess, of physical fortitude and dominance. He’s got a doctorate of English and a bevy of accolades -- so why is it that at thirty years of age, he can’t get a fucking handle on the pheromones that leave him feeling like a piece of him is missing?

  
  


It’s with a monumental effort that he rises from his bed; head in a fog and slow-- usually knotting during his rut left him feeling powerful, energized the next day, but all Ben feels is an emptiness he will spend the better part of his morning trying to explain away.

At least that’s the plan until he steps into the bathroom, eyes adjusting to the bright, sterile light, and catch sight of something red and bruised on his throat. His hand is shaking when it presses against it; a wash of his scent but subdued and tinged with … her. With Rey . He had expected to come out of this smelling of guilt but this was something entirely different.

  
  


There are certain physiological shifts once you’re mated to someone. It’s not a finite rule, and everyone experiences it differently. But the ultimate truth to it is that distance does not make the heart grow fonder; it brings with it emotional and physical pain, discomfort. All in the biological name of keeping two halves together.

  
  


Ben can’t really remember when he’d been claimed and knows that the scent of Rey woven through his own means he had most definitely reciprocated. His memory is littered with her breathy little moans, how her nails left pink trails down his chest, and how tight her cunt had been, but the details, the moments are lost to the thick embankment of haze that’s entirely justified by mating while in rut.

  
  


Only now, somehow, Ben feels as though he’s lost a part of himself he can’t get back and his brain doesn’t even have the decency to remember it.

  
  


Rey’s beautiful, undeniably, but he doesn’t fucking know her. She’s smart, but she’s late , she’s got a cutting wit and a strength like a diamond in her chest. If Ben had to be bound to someone, he could say he’s glad it’s her; but that’s a lie, isn’t it? She’s young, she’s his charge, and at the end of the day, their relationship spells certain disaster. Not just for themselves, though that’s his immediate concern -- but for this school and immersion program as a whole.

  
  


The claims that Alpha’s could cage their urges and that Omega’s wouldn’t be getting knocked up or bred left and right … the publicity would undo the decades of hard work that had gone into outlining the structure of this institution.

  
  


What the fuck have they done?

  
  


It’s not like he can tell anyone, the mark can be hidden and he can suffer through this discomfort but any Omega or Alpha would smell the other on them, and that their scents change when they’re ‘committed’ is just an undeniable fact of their stupid fucking biology.

  
  


He’s just been standing in his bathroom unmoving; palm against his throat now able to feel where his heart begins to race. Ben’s terrified, and he hasn’t even begun to unravel the real and permanent ramifications of what they’ve done.

  
  


No, what he’s done.

  
  


Even if it had been mutually obtained, pursued and enacted, Ben won’t put this on Rey’s shoulders. He was in a position of authority, he should have done better. He hadn’t, and now the consequences hang like a guillotine.

  
  


Ben only just manages to shower; it hurts , to scrub her scent off of him and he hates it. Hates feeling like he doesn’t have a choice, hates that his body is writing checks that he has to cash as a human and not someone who is slave to his physiology like his kind might have been in the past. There are consequences that his dick hadn’t taken into account when it fit into Rey as perfectly as it had, and it feels as though the second wave of his rut wants to take hold of him while he wallows in regret.

  
  


He uses mild soap, unscented, and takes extra care when the washcloth comes up to clean at his upper body and neck. Ben hisses; the sensation was foreign and for whatever primitive reason, it makes him feel aggression towards the basic necessities; like he could overpower what had to be done in favor of what he wanted.

  
  


And what Ben wanted more than anything right here, right now, is Rey.

  
  


Ignoring his hardening cock, Ben finishes washing, rinsing, and leaving the shower to dry. He feels like he’s on autopilot, going through the motions but he’s not at all present for any of it. It’s like he can see himself from afar, out of body, but physically invested in at least looking presentable for a staff meeting he has later today.

  
  


How’s he meant to discuss the progressivism of their initiative while knowing he had broken one of the cardinal, founding rules?

  
  


***

  
  
  


Rose slept in Rey’s bed that night, holding her, comforting her; the worst of the tears had faded and were quickly replaced by rage. Something in her rails against being claimed, owned; she feels like a piece of moving property and not a girl with a future as bright as the heat of a jet engine.

  
  


This does not have to define her, Rey knows that realistically -- there are enough stories about accidentally mated pairs separating, being reclaimed later in life when they’ve found the person they are truly meant to be with. That was a thought that’s years away, however, and she wonders how she can keep her head above this angry, churning tide of pheromones that are beguiled by the prospect.

  
  


When Rey wakes up, all locked in the limbs of her dearest friend, she works through the obstacles of not disturbing the sleeping weight in her bed. After several moments of finagling, Rey manages to get out and away without Rose so much as shifting unconsciously.

  
  


Rey tugs on her favorite sweater; she’d gotten it on a trip to NYC with Rose, and it was her first happy memory in the states. She can use all the happiness she can bind herself with today; mercifully it’s the weekend yet and she won’t have to face down the awkward and unpleasant conversation of telling Ben that she’s not interested in being bound to him by some primitive ritual.

  
  


She can’t remember where it went wrong; running a brush through her hair to slick it back into a ponytail, Rey’s staring in the mirror to do it, and lets her fingertips trace the shape of the bite on her gland. The scent of her Alpha is potent, and she feels her heat try to churn low in her belly -- Rose had given Rey some emergency suppressants - they throw her body out of whack and she’ll pay a high, uncomfortable price during her next heat, but it felt worth the instant gratification by way of incrementally regained self-control. Besides, if Rey had to deal with that again, and so soon, she’s not sure she’d keep her nerve in denying herself the temptation that Ben Solo has proven to be.

  
  


She tugs on some shorts and despite her general dislike of makeup, Rey packs on a healthy amount of concealer over the visible bruising on her neck. It’s not so bad, but she ultimately has to blend it onto her face and it feels stifling . The scent is chemical and all wrong, and something in Rey’s DNA wants to claw it all off of her gland and let Ben groom his warm, sultry Alpha smell back into place.

  
  


That’s ridiculous of course, and Rey tamps it down with a defiant, and final layer of powder to seal the concealer and foundation into place. Might as well roll on mascara, pretend that when she’s not rushing between classes and cramming for tests, that Rey can come across as a presentable college-aged girl.

  
  


Rey grabs her purse from the hook beside the door, checks that she’s got her keys, her wallet, mace and all the bits and bobs that have been fossilized at the bottom of her bag.

  
  


She’s got a destination in mind; the campus coffee shop that’s manned by a sorority that also happens to be entirely comprised of Beta girls (ironic then, that they’re kappa omega in name), but they’re a group who won’t question the smells rolling off of Rey that might as well be a billboard spelling out the fact that she got properly fucked last night. She can only hope that, along the walk, no one of grave import bumps into her.

  
  


For once, luck is on her side. She does spot Hux from afar; a shock of red hair lost to unseasonably warm, dark clothing -- but he’s disappearing into one of the staff buildings and mercifully won’t be anywhere near Rey. Yeah, he’s a beta, but he’s also the devil and the last person Rey wants to run into.

  
  


Well, second to last.

  
  


Rey thanks each god in every pantheon that she doesn’t see Ben -- firstly, because she has no idea what she’s going to say to him, and Rey plans fully on writing down her thoughts and practicing her speech before tackling that particular beast. But secondly, well -- the suppressants only work so long as she’s not around an alpha in rut. They’re like a hormonal pallet cleanser and Ben’s scent is sure to leave it dirty no matter his current state.

  
  


She needs to stop thinking about him; it isn’t helping, and Rey is beginning to sincerely doubt her dedication to ending whatever it is they’ve accidentally begun.

  
  


Rey steps into the coffee shop and the dark, rich scent of whatever they’ve got going off in the grinder fills her senses and leaves her mouth nearly watering. She’s still sensitive to fluctuations in smells, but this was precisely what she’s looking for; a distraction from those that haunt her in memory and physicality alike.

  
  


She orders a chilled caramel something-or-other, more interested in the pear scones that have just been set out and she gets herself two of them. Her favorite seat is unoccupied, and once she’s got her treats, Rey hunkers down in the overstuffed cushions and rests her forehead against the sun-soaked glass, letting it warm her down to her core. It wasn’t as if she’s cold, spring hung thickly in the air -- but ever since the realization of being mated had settled in, Rey’s felt chilled in the way of loneliness. Deep, and unfathomably strong.

  
  


Her drink is left forgotten as Rey’s drawn into the heat of her memory; Ben is inarguably the greatest lay she’s ever had -- and maybe in another life, they could have courted each other. An Alpha and an Omega in the ‘before’ times would have had to go through an animalistic display; dancing and posturing around one another before falling into bed.

  
  


Nowadays, though, there’s an app for that and Rey could, in theory, hook up with unmated Alphas whenever she damn well pleased. As appealing as that thought used to be (note: it makes her mouth taste of copper and bile when she thinks on it now), she never managed to download it, let alone act on it.

  
  


Her phone buzzes prophetically now, and Rey’s brows knit when an unknown number flashes across the screen.

  
  


> Is this Rey Jinn?

  
  


Who in the ---

  
  


> Ya 

> Whose this?

  
  


She taps her fingers against her thigh and takes a sobering drink of her half-melted (once frozen) coffee. The replies hum through it a moment later and she chokes her sip down. It should have been obvious in hindsight, but Rey’s hammering heart rate and widening pupils suggest she’s completely and entirely surprised.

  
  


> It’s Ben, and I’m sorry if this is inappropriate. I got your number from the student index. 

> Scratch that. It is inappropriate. 

> I just wanted to… 

> We need to talk.

  
  


While that might be the understatement of the century, Rey barks a bit of humorless laughter, earning her curious stares from the surrounding, bleary-eyed students.

  
  


> Yeah we do 

> When and where?

  
  


Rey presses send before she loses her nerve entirely, and spends her time waiting with eyes shut and the paltry attempt at regulating her erratic pulse by breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth, all on the count of ten.

  
  


It’s all undone the moment she reads his reply.

  
  


> Tonight. Let me take you out to dinner someplace away from campus. I’ll send you the address later. Does 7 work for you?

  
  


A date, is Rey’s knee-jerk and intrusive thought -- the bite on her throat burns pleasantly and she feels a sound like a purr building in her chest just before she swallows it down. Not a date, but nonetheless necessary.

  
  


> Sounds good.

  
  


It occurs to Rey in the hour she spends sitting there, slack-jawed and reeling, that this is her first date-not-date in the states and that she’s got absolutely nothing to wear.

  
  


So she does the logical thing and calls Jessika. Jessika who had no idea that Rey was mated and Rey’s somehow forgot to mention that, what with it all happening the night before and Rose only knew because she’d been there when it came crashing down.

  
  


This was not how Rey wanted to spend her weekend, but at the same time, there was no place she’d rather be.

Stupid bonding hormones.


	6. Chapter 6

Rey’s been staring at their conversation for forty-five minutes, sprawled out on her bed, half undressed, and is now left with an hour and a half to pretend she knows what to do on a date with the teacher you’re accidentally mated to.

  
  


For life .

  
  


And what’s worse, she’s got nothing to wear.

  
  


Rose offered her a dress that Rey’s complimented every single time she’s worn it, and yeah, the hem hits a little high but they’ve already fucked in a library so there’s really nothing he hasn’t felt or seen and these thoughts aren’t helping Rey calm down at all. Jessika also offered her clothes but Rey wears more in the shower and doesn’t want to encourage the anticipatory wet between her thighs with any illusion that she’s going to be having sex tonight.

  
  


She can’t calm down or think clearly enough to parse through any of this; reactionary, biological or otherwise.

  
  


Her life’s one long run on thought with no end or resolution in sight.

  
  


It’s exhausting, and it’s only been one day.

  
  


Rey is grateful for her friends’ (unsolicited) advice, but more so that they’ve now left her to stew in self-imposed isolation. She can’t deal with them right now, because neither of them has a clue as to what she should do.

  
  


Rose says: report him and field the PR and academic fallout. Meanwhile, Jessika says she should marry him, have his pretty babies, and let him spoil her like a good Alpha should.

  
  


All in all, well meant, but useless.

  
  


She has the dress hanging over the back of her desk chair which is about two feet from her bed (their dorm isn’t all that big). It’s a dark forest green, a sweetheart neckline that gives Rey the much-needed illusion of cleavage, and it’s got a flirty, twirly skirt. She’s not the girliest by any measure, but it’d be a lie to say she didn’t feel a little bit whimsical whenever she’s tried it on in the past.

  
  


Rey ties her hair up -- she’s going to wear it down for dinner and hopes that covering the bruised claiming mark might help in the long run. She just hates the baby hairs that are currently sticking to the nervous sweat on the back of her neck and is attempting to decode the mystery that is the makeup Jessika’s spread out for her beside her laptop. Rey rolls her eyes and steps away, pacing in the small space while rather intrusive thoughts rattle around in her mind.

  
  


There’s the general pre-date nervousness, the fear of being seen with him and having everything fall apart before they have a chance to know what it is, or what it might look like: their future, their relationship, their lives; now irrevocably entangled. But worse, is the sexual frustration, Rey’s grateful that she was able to repress the tail end of her heat or else tonight would be full of one thing and it’s not adult conversations about everything coming down the pike.

  
  


Rey considers herself in the tall mirror glue-tacked to the back of her closet door. She’s all sweaty and she’s going to have to shower (get the scent of trepidation and need off of her), and the glint of a small metal box sticking out from under her bed catches her eye.

  
  


Better to take care of this now, then let it get out of hand. Besides, he’ll smell it on her; the result of the vibrator Rey’s now palming while shimmying out of her underwear in the same motion that she lies against the too-stiff mattress, eyes shut.

  
  


So long as she doesn’t smell sex on him , they’ll be fine. It’s not like he can get laid while claimed anyhow; it’s worse than getting fingered with the cold metal of some guy’s wedding ring pressing against your clit. Raging guilt, and infinitely more permanent.

  
  


The hard plastic is a shock to her cunt, and Rey sucks in a sharp breath to try and relax; she’s clamped down too tightly over it, and the material isn’t as warm or forgiving as what it’s acting as a substitute for. The lowest setting has a pleasant hum churning in her belly and untangled the knotted muscles that’ve been tense since she woke ( since she left Alpha , some lust-addled part of Rey’s brain supplies), she can do this, she can cum and be alright for the rest of the night and maybe dinner won’t be so terrible, maybe they can fix this.

  
  


Whatever this , is.

This has to be the least enthusiastic orgasm of her life, but she does manage to squeeze one out in between heavy petting at her clit and trying (and failing ) not to envision Ben in place of this artificial and ultimately, unsatisfying sublimate between her thighs. It’s almost clinical, she cums, cleans up, and sets off to their floor’s shared showers, avoiding the few knowing looks from several Omegas she passes along the way to them.

  
  


It’s going to be a long night.

***

Ben’s never been very good at the fiscal or logistical part of being a professor; he loves to teach, lives for it, it’s been ingrained in him from a very young age when he’d watched his Uncle inspire a generation with his talks that bordered on motivational but yeah, Ben idolized Luke, had known since he was eight years old that he wanted to be just like him.

  
  


Luke’s a beta, and Ben could never be less than what nature had deemed him. Not to say Ben thinks lesser of betas if anything he envies the freedom, to live a normal life without the noose of expectations inching tighter with every mistake. He doesn’t get the freedom of being human, and now, now Ben’s proven every doubter right. He’d thrown away everything he’d worked for, because an Omega in heat had proven too sweet a temptation to pass up and he’s hardwired to give into it, to supply her with what she’d needed then.

  
  


Ben shakes his head out, and the imperious clearing of a throat (undoubtedly Hux), makes him realize he’s been asked something, and he has to embarrass himself further, by requesting that they repeat the question.

  
  


“How is the immersion program impacting your student's grades? Is there a change from the beta litmus semester last year?” Armitage’s voice is shrill and it carries and Ben’s fighting the surge of Alpha pheromones when he remembers how sad Rey had seemed coming out of his office only days before. How quickly things can go from alright to royally fucked and how easily can his perspective be swayed by a tight, wet cunt. That’s not fair to her , and he internally scolds himself as he moves to sit upright, hands clasped and elbows on the edge of the table that sits half the school’s senior teaching staff, and Ben’s the only Alpha among them, as well as the youngest by far.

  
  


Ben clears his throat, careful to not let anything the toes the line of a ‘command’ find its way into his speech. “So far there’s no change in the class’ attendance, one student, aside, but it’s too early in the semester to get a read.” They’d had two classes so far, that’s not exactly a fair sample but Hux has no interest in fair; he’s hellbent on showing that this will not succeed but cannot do so in an obvious fashion. Subtlety is the name of the game and Alpha’s are almost tragically incapable of it.

  
  


“One student?” Hux lifts a brow and Ben’s jaw is in threat of snapping with how tightly wired he keeps it shut, only nodding in reply, to which Hux assumes is an invitation to continue.”I assume it’s --- who was it, Rey Jinn? The student who, after these ‘two classes’ felt the need to drop your course? That can’t have anything to do with her being registered as an Omega, and you as an Alpha, can it?”

While Ben can’t say Hux is wrong, just then he wants to fight tooth and nail to clear Rey’s name in any capacity that it’s negatively attached to his, but he can’t, so he shakes his head slowly, and grips the table tightly enough that he can feel the wood begin to split. He didn’t know she wanted to drop his class, and that realization makes his stomach plummet and his veins fill with ice and dread.

  
  


“No, her class prior to mine is across campus and she was worried that too many late attendances would be a detriment to her overall GPA. She’s an academic scholarship student, and we worked it out so it wouldn’t.” Ben speaks evenly, clearly, but he knows it’s untrue, as does Hux, given the nature of his own meeting with the advisor immediately after Rey’s, Thankfully, that’s confidential and he can’t bring it up in a faculty meeting, only privately, and had Rey been a beta, her files would have been off the table too.

  
  


Ben hates that he knows something she hadn’t elected to tell him herself, hates more that he wants to plead with her to stay in his class just so there’s more time in the day where he gets to see her, be near her, but ultimately resigns himself in knowing that his hormones can’t fill in the gaps of their threadbare relationship. That Ben's chasing the ghost of something, someone he wants, with a life that's filled with things that aren't quite real.

  
  


The meeting adjourned after some titillating discussion about who is responsible for refilling the coffee filters in their lounge when they run out, but Ben’s stopped listening, there’s a ringing in his ears and his heart’s in a vice. He knows rationally that it’s because of the mark (that he’d covered in drugstore concealer and really just looks like hell, for), because of the woman he’s bound to and all the consequences that are beginning to make themselves painfully clear.

  
  


He hurries to his place, he’s got plenty of time between now and his date with Rey but he’s already a mess because Hux knows , there’s no finite evidence to tell him that but Ben’s got a bad feeling about this in a way that reminds him of his dad, to go with his gut and leave out all the mussy, fussy details.

  
  


Ben’s gut is telling him that, not only is Rey going to cost him his job (and possibly his career), but he’s going to get her kicked out of the program at a full educational loss. She’s probably here on a student Visa and now the sad reality of what they’d done is no longer that knee-jerk ‘oh, fuck’, but a genuine and thorough apocalyptic level of ‘what can go wrong, will’.

  
  


He’s an absolute disaster when he catches sight of himself in his bathroom mirror. His eyes are rimmed in red, there’s a shadow of stubble lining his jaw and patchy makeup covering the bite.

  
  


The bite .

  
  


Ben blindly snatches a washcloth off the ring it had been resting on and wets it before furiously scrubbing the offending film of $2 concealer. There’s immediate satisfaction when he sees the mark unimpeded, and he realizes out of the corner of his eye, that his fingers are shaking where they trace the shape of it. It’s small, like her rosebud mouth and even that faint bit of pressure has his scent tangled with hers all over again and Ben’s lost to it in an instant .

  
  


He’s overcome with lust but it’s riddled with sorrow like bullet holes and he’s not quite sure why his dick has gotten the idea to get painfully hard, or why he’s palming it through his work slacks like this sexual impulsivity isn’t exactly the same shit that landed him in nightmare shaped doppelganger of his once unremarkable life.

  
  


There’s guilt in the lining of his muscles that protest and groan, and encourage and enable; he’s tugging the belt through its loops like he’s mad at it, and shucking off his pants until he’s trembling, his cock in his hand and his back arched over his kitchen counter. His eyes are wild, pupils swollen and there’s rage that’s got his sorrow in a vice and the combination of that with the scent blooming in his poorly ventilated bathroom, that pushes him over the edge.

  
  


The head is already weeping, purple and angry and Ben’s pace is nearly punishing from the start; deserved, but it’s the best sort of torture. He groans a strangled sound since his free hand is now tracing the claiming mark on his neck with a twisted, satisfied sort of reverence.

  
  


He knows it’s his biology, but at what point can he seperate himself from it? Pretend he isn’t everything they whisper about Alpha’s when they think he can’t hear? No one blames a cat for hunting the mouse, the snake its venom; and it’s a piss poor argument because he’s a human with autonomy and as much as he’d like to use the smoke and mirrors of the ethical argument in all Alpha/Omega debates, he can’t .

  
  


He can do this, calloused palm rough against the sensitive skin of his cock and he’s sure it’ll be sore after, but he doesn’t stop, thinks of the way Rey had come apart when he’d knotted her (can feel it swell at his base, but it’s less than half-way, pathetic and unneeded when he’s just fucking into his own hand). Her lips form his name so prettily, wrap around it, honey dipped and dyed in the sin of the act.

  
  


Maybe he’ll cum and yeah , he’s undoubtedly going to feel like shit afterward but maybe, just maybe it’ll take the edge off enough that he won’t be thinking of how Rey’s dusty pink nipples felt against the roof of his mouth.

  
  


Ben’s staring at himself in the mirror when he falls over the edge, eyes trained on the way his pulse has made his neck flush and the mark over his gland all the brighter for it. He remembers, in the fog and fire of the moment before he cums, how it had felt when she bit him. It felt like being wanted, like belonging, like he’s not this sad piece of shit jacking off with tears in his eyes and a belly full of self-loathing.

  
  


He yells her name and curses himself for it. Set to cleaning up the fucking cum all over his bathroom counter was not how he imagined he’d spend his time before dinner tonight, but the only way he’s not losing himself to wallowing is that it’ll help.

  
  


When he showers, he feels both featherweight and like he’s got cement shoes walking into a lake; at least the water uncoils the tension riding high in his shoulders and he can wash away the scent of his regret. Everything else will stay, he knows that but he figures they’ll be in a public place full of a thousand other smells and they’ll be focused on the life-altering decisions being made over expensive spaghetti and really good red wine.

***

Rey dresses and opts out on all the makeup aside from some mascara and chapstick (Ben had kissed her lips rough, and she can feel their phantom weight every time she runs her tongue over the rim of them). Modest, black patent heels, and she’s set. He’s evidently called an uber for her, as to not raise the suspicions of any onlookers. She has to admit, it would look pretty fucking bad if she crawled into his car looking like this after coming off a heat. People would talk, and more than likely, figure it out in a heartbeat.

  
  


She makes small talk with the driver, after texting Ben that she’s on her way. It’s a highly rated Italian hole in the wall restaurant, and it makes her stomach fold in on itself as a reminder that she could barely afford to eat on the day to day, and even while knowing Ben has every intention of paying for their meal, there’s guilt and apprehension forming a toxic cocktail that sounds a lot like The Clash; should I stay or should I go?

  
  


The drive isn’t too long, but the moment she can no longer recognize the neighborhoods and shopping districts, Rey feels like she can relax incrementally as the numbers on the street signs climb, and everyone around here has shoes that cost more than her tuition. It makes her feel out of place but it’s thrilling to hold the power of anonymity.

  
  


To be with Ben in a setting where he’s just a guy, and she’s just a girl, and it’s definitely childish to entertain these thoughts, but they’re harmless when they’re locked up in her head, right? Rey shrugs them off and smiles when the car pulls to a stop, and Ben’s there, opening her door like it’s a perfectly natural thing to do -- and just then, it feels like it could be.

  
  


“Hey,” Rey greets him sheepishly, biting her lip on reflex while her eyes zero in on the bite to his neck. It sets her heart to racing; she’s going to say something more finite like ‘let’s go inside’, but a heavy, slow breeze crawls and wraps around them like a cocoon.

  
  


Despite her best efforts to breathe in through her mouth, Rey’s nostrils flare around a scent that’s telling, that takes what had been an innocent fluttering and adds kindling to this ever-present fire set in her womb. He’d cum, recently , but the lack of anyone else’s scent tells Rey one thing: Ben had jacked off right before meeting her here and maybe that’s not the sexiest thing to think but it’s got her thighs flexing tight together, both in an effort to tame the slick that’s coating the inside of them, and to hunt for a little bit of friction.

  
  


For relief.

  
  


Ben’s having a similar realization and Rey’s stomach drops down to her feet when it settles in that they’d probably both done this in the interest of self-preservation and somehow, simultaneously damned themselves.

“---Fuck.” Ben curses through his teeth, but the tone and feel of it is the rough sort of Alpha that Rey’s physiology suddenly can’t get enough of, and has her roll onto the tips of her toes, breathing him in before she regains her faculties and draws away, horrified that she’d been this close to nuzzling his scent gland.

  
  


Christ .

  
  


The hostess makes eyes at Ben the moment they’re in through the door -- it had taken them a solid five minutes of standing outside and staring resolutely anyplace but at the other, to work up the gumption to actually step into the restaurant. Rey’s never thought herself to be possessive, sure, she could get a little jealous but that’s just a byproduct of lifelong insecurity and abandonment issues; but the way she looks at the poor girl who had probably been innocently checking Ben out was enough to flip that switch in an instant.

  
  


If looks could kill, Rey intones and feels Ben’s hand tighten around her. She looks up to him, confused, but can read the concern in his eyes as him having scented the change in her emotional state, she gives his hand a squeeze but lets it go, the glands in their wrists brush in parting and Rey’s skin suddenly feels like it’s on fire.

  
  


Their table is a booth, tucked into the back and the only light to go by is the fluttering candle at the center of the red vinyl and the low glow of overhead orange chandeliers. It’s fancy but cozy, and Rey sinks into the buttery leather with a happy little sound that makes Ben almost spill the glass of water that's just been poured for him.

  
  


She mouths the word sorry but has become fascinated by the menu in her hands, almost as if she’s avoiding the reason they were there at all (unsurprisingly, she is).

  
  


Of course, Ben being the adult that he is breaks the silence with the type of sigh that’s generally a precursor to a heavy conversation, and Rey can already feel her anxiety climbing high, sinking its claws of doubt and panic in deep without a chance of letting go.

  
  


“So,” He begins, and maybe the nervousness cutting sharply through his normally schooled expression makes Rey unwind a bit; it’s nice to know that she’s not the only one fielding the persuasive arguments of ‘fight or flight’.

“So,” Rey agrees, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles, but she means it encouragingly.

  
  


Ben mirrors her, his own is a goofy, lopsided grin and it does something to her insides that she can’t quite name, but his voice evens out and resumes that calm, dulcet lull that’s probably half the reason she slept with him at all.

  
  


“This is a mess,” He summarizes, and Rey chokes back an uncomfortable laugh. He’s right , but that doesn’t mean talking about it is any less painful. “I -- I don’t know where to begin. There isn’t exactly a protocol for this type of … relationship.” It’s clear that he uses that word carefully, but when Rey doesn’t run off, Ben continues. “What we’re -- supposed to do, biologically, I mean?” Oh, Christ, she’s blushing now and his dark eyes are roving slowly over her face and she knows that even in this sunset lighting, he can see it as plain as day.

  
  


He smirks a little, and reaches for her hand over the table; Rey flinches at the contact, all tightly coiled muscles ready to fight her way out of the discomfort that’s settled like an asphyxiant over the conversation. Ben eases her, his thumb sweeping back and forth over the gland in her wrist and she’s immediately calmed by the act, and no longer fidgets underneath his fingers, simply lets her own replicate the action on him, and even though the din of polite conversation around them, Rey can hear a purr build in his chest.

  
  


“What I’m trying to say, is that I don’t expect anything, I’m not going to -- just because our bodies are telling us to be together, doesn’t mean we don’t have a choice.” Ben winces at the sound of his voice just then; clinical like there’s not a drop of emotional investment into how she takes it, or how she feels.

  
  


Objectively, Rey knows that’s not the case; that it’s always easier to heal from a clean break. But she’s also not that capable of objectivity, rationality, or being reasonable because her anatomy is screaming at her that the Alpha that’s claimed her, that’s made her his mate, doesn’t want her and it’s undoubtedly because of something she’s done.

  
  


“Oh.” Is her articulate reply, but Rey hates the way the tears she’s hiding echo in the single syllable like gunfire, thick in her throat and when she moves to wipe them away, Ben’s hand replaces hers. It’s gentle, warm, comforting like curling up with her favorite book in a nest of hand me down and thrift shop blankets. It’s crazy, of course, he’s practically a stranger but trying to explain that to a body that’s now thoroughly invested in being bred full of his babies, isn’t altogether that successful of an endeavor.

“Rey-- I’m your teacher . At a school whose framework is literally built on the promise that relationships like this wouldn’t happen. It’s inappropriate and -- as much as I might want to explore it, the risks are too much. You could lose your scholarship, your visa, and I could lose my job. I say ‘could’ lightly , because chances are we won’t be able to hide this for very long. We’re..” He sucks in a sharp breath, but when glances out between her stuck, wet lashes, she can see his hands are trembling where they curl and uncurl against the table top. “We’re mated, and that sets some pretty obvious things in motion. First of all, I smell like you and you smell like me; this isn’t something we can scrub off, and if we’re in close proximity it’ll be pretty obvious to any designation what’s going on.”

  
  


Again, he’s speaking the truth but Rey’s violently opposed to recognizing it; she’d come in here with a similar mindset but hearing him say it felt dangerously close to rejection and the pain that backpacks with it slips between her ribs like a knife. She feels a wave of nausea course through her, and now the portobello ravioli she ordered sounds horrible, terrible. In fact, there’s nothing good at all in a world where her mate doesn’t want her.

  
  


No , Rey snaps; grabs the glass of water and drains it all without breathing, and tries to ground herself like she’s not the stereotype of a clingy Omega that got hooked on his knot. Sure, they’d marked each other unintentionally and that’s just not something that happens enough for them to have any shape of an idea of what to do.

  
  


“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugs noncommittally. Rey should add to the conversation, should vent some of these thoughts that’re compounding until they’re as dense as a dying star; it feels similar to one, all heat and pressure and insurmountable emotional destruction in place of the planets she’d lay waste to, before collapsing in on herself at the end.

  
  


This is getting out of hand, she’s waxing poetic in an internal monologue and adding absolutely nothing to the topic they’re both fumbling with.

  
  


“I just -- I don’t know.” Her voice shrinks, and Rey feels smaller and smaller as the silence ticks on between them and Ben, as patient as ever, watches her with an unreadable expression as she attempts to unpack two decades worth of fear. “I’ve never had -- you’re the first Alpha I’ve ever been with.” She shakes those words out because she owes Ben the truth if she can’t give him her emotional baldness. “And I didn’t know what to expect but this certainly wasn’t on my list -- and yes, of course, I studied up a little bit but I wasn’t exactly anticipating what happened.”

  
  


Yeah, she’s thought over that a lot, too. It’s been a die but a lifetime has happened between last night and this night and there’s really nothing to be done but realize that they have two choices, each as simple and as complicated as the either.

  
  


One, they can separate and go the rest of their long lives with a deep well of dissatisfaction with anyone they’re with and the inability to bond with them beyond the basics. It’s not that she couldn’t fall in love, but her body won’t recognize anyone else. Anyone but Ben.

  
  


Or two , they can ignore the ten thousand red flags, and try to figure this thing out one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. Walking down a path they cannot see towards an end that’s shapeless and unknown.

  
  


It’s clear to Rey that Ben saw the risks, and decided that she isn’t worth running them; or maybe he’s just trying to do the ‘right thing’ when it’s a situation that cannot be measured in black or white, right or wrong. There’s no compass pointing north and the only guidelines they’ve got are the biological markers that are telling them the truth they’re electing to ignore.

  
  


That there’s really only one choice; and Rey can feel that realization settling in the flames that paint the inside of her thighs, still slick and when she shifts to adjust her skirt from where the sweat makes it stick to herself and the leather; that scent is freed and it hits Ben like ice water.

  
  


She sees him react to it, watches his pupils swallow his dark eyes as they outwardly bloomed, his nostrils flare, adam’s apple bobbing as his pulse flutters at the pale base of his throat. Rey wants to give him an apology, and she might have if his scent wasn’t just as potent when it analyzes hers and communicates how poorly he’s got a hold on his own self-control.

  
  


Rey’s going to excuse herself to the bathroom, and she does. She just needs to splash her face with some water or breathe in those weird little scent diffusers plugged into the wall until she regains enough of herself to calm the fuck down.

  
  


And Rey’s going to , until Ben steps in after her and before either of them can say another unhelpful word, he’s kissing her.

In a matter of twenty-four hours she’s memorized how his arms feel when they’re wrapped against her waist, but now they’re hoisting Rey up and locking just under her knees to encourage them around his hips, which bracket against her and keep Rey pinned against the tiled wall. She complies, hanging onto him without once breaking away from the sweet relief of his lips on hers. Ben groans when her mouth drags down, away, and she runs the flat of her tongue over the mark she’s left; soothing the wound that’s begun to heal and would eventually be a silver scar, mockingly called an Alpha’s wedding band, as a mated pair does so for life .

  
  


Getting fucked against the wall was another unexpected turn, but Rey can’t find it in herself to complain -- mostly because she doesn’t want to, but also because she’s had some wine and that pales in comparison to the intoxicant his scent proves to be when they’re already bonded and he’s rutting the hard length of his cock against her inner thigh. He mouths over the twin bite just below her jaw and Rey shivers almost violently, hot and cold flashing through her veins and a fresh coat of slick pours out and soaks through her underwear and the front of his dark slacks.

  
  


Once more, they’re in public and damned if they’re caught but it sort of adds fuel to the fire of their undeniable and unavoidable, animal attraction.

  
  


“Ben,” Rey whimpers, and he’s silent aside from the sound of him unbuttoning, the drag of his pants zipper as he moves it aside to grab for his admittedly tender cock, already harder than it’d been this morning.

***

Ben doesn’t know what this means, but he knows that he wants it. He wants the pleasure-pain of her teeth dragging down his throat or how her ineffectual nails dig into his chest like she’s pushing him away in the same motion that she’s bringing him closer. He wants how she tastes like strawberries and cherries and how summer’s supposed to taste but never knew how.

  
  


He’s supposed to be pragmatic, practical, but he’s gathering the slick from the cleft of her thigh and pussy and using it as a lubricant -- she’s already sopping wet, and it’s making his head spin and his pulse race dangerously. Ben has mind enough to pause, to angle his head so their foreheads can rest together, eyes locked. “Do you want this?” He asks, aware that there’s a weight to his words that meant something above and beyond the sex, the question that changes everything.

  
  


Ben’s not sure what’s heavier, her ‘yes’, or knowing what it meant from there on out that she’d said it.


	7. Chapter 7

Staying at Ben’s is surreal; the night following their failed attempt at a platonic and public meal, a blur. Rey can recall bits and pieces in passing, but they only serve to spite her in the end, libido flaring and nails biting into the silken sheets of his bed.

  
  


Ben’s house is ridiculous ; he’s a teacher (a professor), but the lavish accents and overall sense of luxury has Rey feeling wildly out of place in the same strokes she’s delighted to indulge in it. Perhaps it’s the deep seeded desire to let an Alpha spoil her, to pamper her and keep her coveted, beloved, and safe --- or , it’s the awe of a child raised by and around poverty, thrown into a world as shiny and bright as Ben’s.

  
  


He’s at a meeting with a student this afternoon, so Rey’s left to her own devices. Monday’s are usually the day she shops for ramen and canned chili from the campus shop; but Ben left his card and told her to order in -- and she’s more than happy to take advantage of that.

  
  


Post-heat weeks are evidently laden with exhaustion, cramps as the uterus resizes itself (horrible, horrible imagery), and general discomfort. Rey feels … good , surprisingly; the few bruises she’s earned on her hips and thighs, and the fading imprint of the patterned tile from the restaurant’s wall are all she’s left with. Aside from a deep, permeating sense of satisfaction, and an appetite that has her ordering enough Chinese take out for a small army.

  
  


She’s undressed, swathed by pale blue silk and a navy, cotton duvet; it’s the softest thing Rey’s ever touched, running her fingertips over the fabric, and wincing when her chewed on nails snag an errant thread. Juxtaposition; messy college student set in the tableau of her tidy Professor’s home.

  
  


Rey huffs, bored . Her food is about forty-five minutes out, and she’s not sure what to make of this lazy morning she’s been gifted by one of the most peculiar sets of circumstances Rey’s ever encountered.

  
  


Accidental matings are supposed to be great tragedies and yes , Rey is still uncertain of what it means and Ben is still very much a stranger; but she feels the unbridled dawn of hope warm in her belly, and catches herself smiling in the mirror adjacent to the bed.

Hope is dangerous, though; and she can’t count on it as something finite until it’s taken a less ambiguous shape.

  
  


So far they’ve done little planning -- no planning, actually. They’ve fucked, made small talk, and slept -- and while generally that’s an ideal, when you’re intrinsically, physically, and emotionally bound to someone for the rest of your life, it isn’t enough to bridge the gap of what they have and what they will be; or what they’ve yet to discover and most importantly:

  
  


What they want .

  
  


It’s frustrating doubtlessly for the both of them, but he’s the one in power (both biologically and professionally), and Rey’s fought feeling powerless all her life; worked as hard as she has to earn her place. She won’t sacrifice it for anything, but this unintentional self-sabotage is something she never saw coming and is winded by the prospect of what it means for the future she’s chased.

  
  


Now’s not the time for melancholic introspection, though. That’s a bridge she’ll burn when she gets to it.

  
  


The best way to shake off a funk is to actually move, to get out of bed; and ideally put clothes on before the Uber eats driver shows up.

  
  


Rey grumbles wordlessly and to nothing in particular; her limbs protest the motion, put to the test last night, each and every muscle aches in the most delicious way possible. She smiles at a small series of bruises on her right hip, spaced out evenly in the shape of Ben’s fingertips. Her own trace over it with quiet, sleepy reverence; it’s definitely the more primitive parts of Rey’s identity that revel in it, the claim he has on her body.

  
  


She tugs on one of Ben’s discarded buttons ups, the hem hits about mid-thigh and the soft, worn-in linen feels like heaven when she wraps her arms around her waist to hold it tight to her skin. It smells like him too; though his entire home permeates Alpha , and it’s lulled her into the enticing place of sated, Omega complacency.

Rey pads over to the mirror, and wrinkles her nose. Her hair is a static-y halo of chestnut around her still-flushed face. She tugs it back and smooths it down to the best of her ability, sighing when she has to settle for a messy bun that faintly resembles a peacock’s tail feathers. It’s far from attractive, but she’s mated and for the most part, Rey’s never tried all that hard to look presentable.

  
  


What’s the point? She’s set out to do what she’s going to; appearance is mercurial, changing, impermanent.

  
  


There’s an array of fragrances on the dresser under the mirror, and she looks at them; the scents all cloud his, and it makes her briefly resentful of Armani, Bulgari, and Versace all at once for daring to mask the loveliness that is Ben.

She does roll up the sleeves a bit, they fall well past her hands and make maneuvering both nightmarish and comical; she buttons the clasp, and smiles with fondness where her lipstick had left a mark on the flattened collar sitting low around her throat. Rey touches it; remembers the lip stain rubbing off when he’d knotted for the second time, and she’d been trapped between Ben and the bathroom wall.

  
  


A shiver runs through her at the exact moment the doorbell rings, and Rey’s jarred from the memory with the equivalent of ice water dumped over her oncoming arousal. Now’s the time for lo mein, not the flutter of her pulse where it sits between her collarbones or the heat that rushes desperately down her thighs.

  
  


Rey bites back a whine when she answers the door -- mercifully, the delivery guy is a beta, and entirely unaware as to the hormonal hurricane that rages desperately inside of her.

  
  


What’s the fucking deal? Rey intones, signing for her food and looking desperate as well as dejected when she sees the total, and the memory of being a girl who couldn’t afford to eat makes her feel like she doesn’t deserve this now. It’s excessive, but she’s hungry, and they’ve burned through what little food Rey had snagged at the restaurant the night before.

  
  


She’s taken up shop in Ben’s office; schematics and blueprints unrolled and occupying every available surface (he smiled fondly at it when she was still asleep in his bed, it felt more and more like a home when someone else takes up space in it) and it’s forced Rey to sit cross-legged on the floor between a tattered, second-hand textbook to her left, and by her right, a stack of notecards that are intermittently stained by soy sauce that look suspiciously like her fingerprint.

  
  


She uses the clean pair of chopsticks to hold her hair back more successfully than the claw-clip that had been utilized before (they’d given Rey five pairs, which is telling of just how much food she’d ordered), and she piles up the take-out containers to move into studying; full and content, and ready to focus.

  
  


It’s admittedly easier here; there’s no loud neighbors, an open and airy space that smells so strongly of Alpha, that it’s got her body working perfectly; streamlined on pheromones that otherwise would have left Rey feeling punch drunk.

  
  


Sometime between starting her reading for the day; and actually getting into the thick of fluid mechanics studying, Rey fell asleep on the office floor. She wakes to warm, strong arms hooking behind her shoulders and her knees; carefully bringing her half-sleeping form to a chest that’s only just softer than the hardwood floor that’s falling out from underneath her. She paws at the soft fabric of Ben’s shirt and hums dreamily up at him, eyelids fluttering but far too reluctant to commit to waking.

  
  


“Hey,” She tries; voice low and gravely from sleep. Ben laughs a little, and she can feel where it swells behind his ribs and to the side of his steadily beating heart.

  
  


“You’re not even in class and you can’t stay awake,” He teases and Rey’s brow furrows because she’s only ever been late to his -- but ah , teachers talk, and it’s more than likely that her applied Physics professor has tattled on her inability to keep her eyes open whenever the lecture plateaus.

  
  


Rey just grumbles her reply before Ben deposits her carefully on the messy sheets of his bed. “I found out something interesting,” His voice is quiet and in it, Rey hears a surprising amount of apprehension; if not hope.

  
  


“Hm?” Is her belated and elegant response, and the click of his shirt being unbuttoned is enough for Rey to open her eyes.

***

Ben clears his throat; watches as the sleepy little thing in his bed struggles towards consciousness and ultimately decides to get comfortable as Rey comes out of what appears to be a very impressive food-induced coma.

  
  


He lets his oxford fall to the floor and sets his watch and glasses on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Is it too early to have his side?

Doesn’t that by extension means there’s a hers ? His mind’s too overfull to question it here and now, and he waits against the headboard for Rey to blink the last bits of sleep from her eyes.

  
  


It’s sweet, her in his shirt and looking like all the hard lines of the spitfire girl are softened in a way that feels like a treasured rarity for him to see.

  
  


“I have an idea,” Ben steels himself, reading Rey’s tension as it grows in the silence all too quickly, and so he stumbles in his rush to remedy, “That if we were mated prior to knowing the class schedule, there are laws in place to prevent any harm from coming to established bonds even entering the school term.” Her confusion has her words catch on her teeth and Ben knows he’s omitted some pretty important details and struggles now to clarify.

  
  


“Alpha’s and Omega’s are treated differently -- most outdated lawmaking presents us with red tape in the day to day and admittedly it can be … frustrating .” To say the least.

  
  


Ben reaches out cautiously to take Rey’s hand, his thumb sweeps over her pulse point and he uses the steady feel of it to center himself. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if his rage at the mistreatment of people with their designation blinded him to the topic they’ve touched on but only now visited with any depth. “It’s an option that will keep you from losing your scholarship in the very likely event that we’re found out -- and it’ll hopefully let me keep my job; though they’ll transfer you to another class.” Ben swallows the lump in his throat, but powers on even when his hand begins to shake.

  
  


Rey tightens her grip on it, and he solidifies from some man frightened of this amount of intimacy to the Alpha she needs him to be.

  
  


“It’ll require some finesse on our end -- to look and act like a mated couple.” He trips up over that last word and to his horror, feels his cheeks begin to flush. “And I’m only asking this as something to be done in both our best interests. Rey, I -- we’re in this, and I don’t expect you to want to be stuck with me, but this is the only way I can --” Ben bites down, thinly avoiding saying; keep you safe , out loud.

  
  


She doesn’t want him, an Alpha who was early to present and a thorn in every person whose life he’s ever touched sides.

  
  


Rey regards him quietly; the mercury of her hazel iris’ shift as the afternoon bleeds golden light into the bedroom, finding all the flecks of each and every color locked in her kaleidoscope eyes focused on his.

  
  


“I’ll do it,” She nods, stoic; and Ben hates that it makes his stomach tighten, heart flutter and brain remind them both that it is all pretend. He goes to speak, but Rey’s slim finger is pressing against his lips and so he’s quieted and riled up all in one go.

  
  


“On one condition,” It’s her turn to sound uncertain, wary, and so Ben tenses even as she crawls onto his lap and further thaws the impassive mask he’d intended to wear; looking on her with a tenderness that’s singularly reserved.

  
  


“Anything,” Ben finds himself saying, voice little more than a rasping croak in the silence she leaves.

  
  


“We -- I’d like to get to know you. Date you for real, find out who you are. Do everything we were supposed to do before, well.” It’s the first time Rey’s touched the mark she left on him in a setting that wasn’t sexual, but it’s no less sensual. His adam’s apple bobs when her nails trace the shape of purple and where it’s begun to yellow around his scent gland. She blinks, head tilting an avian degree while she inspects it.

  
  


Ben realizes he’s meant to answer her; and he does so with a hand on the dip of Rey’s waist and its twin knotting in the hair at the nape of her neck to bring her to him for a slow, exploratory kiss.

  
  


“Sounds good to me, sweetheart.” He hums into her mouth; tasting sweet and sour and the tang of plum sauce, it makes Ben smile; makes Rey feel real in the unyielding cage of his arms and where they keep her flush to him, chest to chest.

  
  


Heart to heart.

  
  


***

There are logistical, fiscal, and pragmatic hoops for them to jump through but Rey’s never slept as well as she does in Ben’s arms and waking up to the scent of coffee brewing (and not her next-door neighbor returning from a late night tryst) is almost an erotic experience, dragging the bleary eyed college student out of bed with a previously unseen fervor.

  
  


He’s a vision; navy boxers slim fitting and the miles and miles of pale, mole dotted skin fits neatly over a physique that can’t be called anything other than the pinnacle of Alpha male, and it makes Rey’s mouth run dry.

  
  


Ben’s asked her something but she just stares owlishly up at him, neck craning to acclimate to the height as he steps up to her, a mug of coffee held aloft for her to take. “Thank you,” Rey breathes and Ben leans over, hesitates, and presses a kiss to her brow.

  
  


“We should shower.” He realizes the implication therein, and clears his throat -- he turns away but not before Rey can see the tips of his ears turn bright pink, it makes her feel all warm and fuzzy. “---wash the scent off before we head into school, try to make it subtle, you know.” He gestures with his free hand to the side of his neck; there’s not much to be done with the obvious, but Rey won’t turn down the opportunity to touch everything she’s spent the better part of her morning ogling.

  
  


Rey’s never drank a cup of coffee as quickly as she does this one; hot water down the back of her throat all in an effort to streamline from kitchen to bathroom (she has little interest in getting clean).

  
  


Ben must see the gleam in her eye, or scents it when her pheromones go all sideways and out her before she has a chance to speak, because he shakes his head slowly, bending down just enough to rub the stubble dusting his jaw along her scent gland that’s got his kitchen smelling of Rey.

  
  


“We’ll have time later, little omega.” Ben breathes, and Rey feels the words travel straight to her cunt, nodding uselessly where her head’s come to rest against his breastbone.

  
  


They do shower, and Ben eats her out with a leg over his shoulder and with a vigor that has her white-knuckle his hair, scrambling desperately for purchase over skin that slips from water and soap. She cums, and he doesn’t stop; pushing her past the point of hypersensitivity and into the point where she feels tears prick the inner corner of her eyes. Ben stops before it’s too much, and takes extra care in using a washcloth and mild, unscented body wash to clean every inch of her now boneless frame.

  
  


Rey asks for him to drop her off outside of her dorm -- she’s not afraid of being seen with him, not after staying up half the night learning everything there is to know with the promise of days and weeks that would give her even more. She just has to grab some things and possibly inform her roommate and best friends what’s kept her from coming home these last few nights -- after all, they hadn’t heard from her since she left for her date with Ben.

  
  


Only forty-eight hours have passed and yet it feels like her life has changed. For the better, remains to be seen and she’s so nervous she can’t make the key fit the lock and nearly drops it twice.

  
  


“You okay?” Rose’s voice is right behind her and Rey jumps at the sound in the same motion that she finally manages to unlock the door. Good timing, then, that a breeze contained by their small dorm then shifts and shares Rey’s sated scent between the two Omega’s standing in the eye of it.

  
  


“ Yeah you are,” Rose answers, walking past Rey with her brows inching towards her hairline.

  
  


It’s better to just be out with it, be honest, and Rey blurts:

  
  


“I’m moving in with Ben.”

  
  


And Rose looks liable to faint; but it’s Jessika’s voice that breaks the silence, having heard her friends come home and promptly invited herself in (not that either Rey or Rose had bothered to close the door behind them --).

  
  


“You’re doing what ?”


	8. Chapter 8

Rey knew she could trust her friends with this.

  
  


Yeah, she’d been nervous at the time, but nerves are an inescapable companion to spontaneous, impossible decisions. And this is nothing short of completely and entirely life-altering.

  
  


Jessika and Rose agreed to let Rey take them out to lunch before they formed an opinion - she swore up and down that they couldn’t possibly make up their minds until she had an opportunity to explain herself. Thankfully, Ben had lent Rey his credit card for casual use, citing ‘maintenance of the facade ’ which was their fake long-term relationship; but part of her knew it’s his Alpha instincts ensuring that she has food in her belly, and maybe it’s calling to the part of her that wants to be cared for, that’s never been anything worth caring about.

  
  


Maybe abandonment issues and being a mated, young Omega aren’t a particularly healthy combination, but Rey’s not able to do a damn thing about it now.

  
  


It’s a small sandwich shop that Rey’s fond of (but only been able to afford once or twice before), with boston ferns hanging low, fat and velveteen over the wide-set storefront.

  
  


They’re happy and healthy and she’s always been fond of plants --however incapable she is of actually taking care of one-- they make the world around them come alive. Perhaps it’s a psychosomatic effect, but Rey feels freed when she’s surrounded by knotted oaks that frame the streets or when she takes to studying in the on-campus garden, full of wonderfully scented lilies and hydrangeas that look like blue and purple clouds tethered to the soil by their stems.

  
  


“Stop flirting ,” Rose chastises and Jessika has to let go of the piece of hair she’d twined around her fingertip to properly glare at her friend. Rey can only laugh at that; Jess’ been making ‘fuck me eyes’ at the poor beta-boy behind the counter, and he practically trips on his way over to the soda fountain. All three girls clap their hands over their mouths in a last ditch effort to mask the fact that they were silently cry-laughing, they didn’t want to be rude after all.

  
  


They all settled peaceably around a table jammed into the far corner; Rey on one side, Jessika and Rose on the other, the latter two are sharing a chocolate malt while Rey stirs her lavender lemonade with her pinky and mulls over what exactly she’s going to say.

  
  


“So,” Rey starts, and her two friends both lean back in their chairs; almost eerie how perfectly in sync they are but she’ll chalk it up to mutual interest in what she has to say. “I know you both aren’t exactly pleased with me,” Jessika makes a derisive noise and Rose slugs her gently on the shoulder, “--but it wasn’t as if I intended for any of this to happen.” Plaintively, Rey sets both of her palms against the tabletop, trying to steady how her hands shake in the same vein that she rights her posture. “If I’m not mistaken it was you who suggested I do it,” Rey points at Jess, her friend snorts,

  
  


“No I specifically said that fucking your teacher wasn’t a good idea.”

  
  


“Yeah well-- I hadn’t known how good a knot could be until you made it sound like fucking disneyland.” A bit louder than Rey had intended, and a couple other patrons cast them wary looks.

  
  


All three girls let their ruffled feathers smooth before they continue talking; Rey takes a steady breath and runs her hand through her hair; a tick she’d unknowingly picked up from Ben, and sets the notch of her elbows on the table’s edge. It’s not exactly comfortable, but the slight stinging in her arms keeps Rey from dissociating straight out of this conversation and into a place where she funnels all her frustration into the attempted dialogue she has with her friends.

  
  


“Neither Ben or I saw this coming,” Jessika visibly flinches when Rey refers to her professor by his first name, but she continues on. “Sometimes shit happens. We’re trying to navigate from here on out - we can’t undo it, clearly.” Rey touches the bruising on her neck; she’d made no effort to cover it; hiding, skulking around and trying to go the back-door route are things of the past. If they’re going to pull this off convincingly, Rey has to behave as a deliberately and happily mated Omega would. “All I’m asking is that you … help me out here. If I get caught, I’ll lose my scholarship and my student Visa and everything will be shit.” To put it plainly.

  
  


Rose nods, picking the sesame seeds off of her bread and popping them into her mouth one by one, “I’m not a big fan of lying,” she lifts a finger to shush Rey before she can protest, “but, I know you’re not doing any of this to get ahead in your classes. I know you don’t have a sinister bone in your body, and I know that if this had happened to either of us,” Rose pointedly looks a Jessika just then, who rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue the point she’s making. “You’d do whatever we needed without question. So yeah, I’m on board.”

  
  


It takes Jessika a few more moments of processing her irritation before she acquiesces. Neither of them are mad at Rey ( why would they be? ) but that doesn’t mean fellow Omegas are particularly pleased to hear that one of the core promises that keeps this foundation and program operating is being broken in plain sight, and by a friend no less.

  
  


Rey’s mishap isn’t just about her anymore, now that she and Ben have decided to come out with their relationship and that they intend on masquerading it as one that’s been happening for a while. It means other Omegas and Alphas are going to be under intense scrutiny from the council overseeing the school’s success from here until eternity and that doesn’t ease the transition of this already fragile concept into one that’s widely accepted.

  
  


She gets it, but it’s a weight off of her shoulders to know that Rose and Jessika are accepting in the end. They’re her very best friends, and if Rey did not have their support it’s unlikely that she’d succeed.

  
  


The knot in her stomach loosens incrementally as they crack jokes and segue into their normal, daily, chit chat; all the better, because she’s actually starving and she’d dreaded wasting the entirety of her sandwich if her anxious nausea kicked back up.

  
  


She’ll undoubtedly be late to class but this time… Well, Rey doesn’t mind.

***

Ben would rather be anyplace but here.

  
  


Sitting, waiting; dread coiling in his gut until it’s in an iron vice. Hux’s office sits like an ominous hellmouth behind him and he’s bouncing his knee hard enough that his teeth rattle and the receptionist is giving him intermittent looks of concern (or annoyance; they’re one in the same by now).

  
  


He knows that Hux isn’t going to bend on this; he’d never once been flexible when they worked together during undergrad and Ben can’t imagine he’s completely changed in the last five years. Being tasked with overseeing the assimilation initiative has gone straight to his head, and Ben has little interest in inflating his ego any further by proving him right. He’d never trusted Alpha’s, as a Beta himself, and should he so much as see a hint of weakness, he’s going to pounce.

  
  


It’d be easier if Ben hadn’t confessed his difficulties with Rey at the faculty meeting, and how he’d later omitted that fact from his conversation with her. He owed so many people the truth and now? Now he has to lie through his teeth to protect them.

  
  


Hindsight is 20/20, but Ben’s only capable of looking forward right now. A switch has been flipped,and he’s not altogether sure if it’s exclusively because he’s mated to Rey.

  
  


“I didn’t mention it,” Ben tries at flippancy, to come off as nonchalant as possible; maybe it’s the way his fingers shake, running through his hair nervously, continuously. Maybe it’s how he cannot hold Hux’s eyes with his own, grown dark with dread and shame. But he’s unsuccessful on all fronts and the look he’s earned from his collegue harbors no small amount of disgust. He continues, “because I knew you’d raise hell and I didn’t feel like fielding your righteous beta bullshit .” He’d never used someone’s designation as an insult before and it rots on the flat of his tongue; half hate, half instinct.

  
  


There’s a part of him now that would do anything, everything to protect Rey. No matter what that means.

  
  


Hux lifts a brow, unflappable in the extreme. “So what you’re telling me,” he licks his thumb and casually flips through the stack of papers set before him. “Is that you willfully omitted this bit of information after knowing she was in your class. Do you have any idea what sort of logistical nightmare this presents not only for you, but for me as well? I’m assigned to her case, as a student here on scholarship the likelihood that she’ll lose it because of some convoluted conflict of interest is --- high .” And though it’s phrased through a sigh, Ben knows Hux feels nothing like regret.

  
  


Empathy and compassion aren’t high on his list of priorities.

  
  


Ben just stares at him, unmoving aside from the heft of his shoulders and chest as he works to steady his breathing. There’s a gnawing at the back of his skull, a distant siren that’s warring with ration and reason -- he’s trying to avoid the route of reactionary because he knows, knows deep in his gut that’ll it’ll lead someplace he cannot come back from.

  
  


He’s not willing to lose that much of himself, not after everything he’s conquered just to get to where he’s at.

  
  


“Don’t threaten her,” Ben endeavors at an even tone, but the thread of darkness and innate superiority runs deep. Hux appears to be taken aback for that moment after, as if he were parsing the implications of such a statement.

  
  


Ben, conversely, realizes what he’s done a moment too late.

  
  


Alpha’s voices are something demanding, commanding, a piece of hardwired biology that leaves no room for argument and has no margin for disobedience.

  
  


It’s been a long time since he felt the burn of the words as they leave his mouth, as cinder, as flame - they cauterize the wound left by Hux’s indignation, as he’s now compelled to do precisely as they Alpha before him states.

  
  


Ben feels sick, but he can’t undo this. Can’t take back what’s already been done. So he rides the wake of this monumental mistake and clears his throat to keep his voice from shaking. “You won’t mention a word of this to anyone. Rey won’t be held accountable for my actions. She’ll continue to be a student of mine -- my blind grading prevents nepotism or conflict of interest. If you so much as breathe at her? I’ll kill you.”

  
  


Hux nods dumbly up at him, as if in a fog, and Ben leaves without another word.

  
  


Right , so much for getting himself out of the hole he’d dug; at this point he’s halfway to the Earth’s core and he might as well keep burrowing. Sooner to self immolate than make any sort of amends.

  
  


He’s so completely screwed.

  
  


So Ben Solo, esteemed professor and powerful Alpha male does the only logical thing left in his arsenal. He calls his mom.

  
  


Leia picks up on the first ring.

  
  


She lectures him for a solid two hours, and Ben’s mouth is dry from apologies by the end of it. The conversation was an amalgam of: you fucking idiot , and, is this Rey at least a good girl ? It fishtails, eventually, into the inevitable invite to dinner he’d been declining all this past year. Something’s changed, though, and Ben swallows hard when he accepts.

  
  


Of course, his mother demands that he bring his pretty little mate on over so she, the Senator who has fought for the rights of Alphas and Omegas in the modern era, can do what she does best: try to unfuck her son over .

  
  


The next and only step to take is to tell Rey everything that’s happened and hope beyond all hope that it isn’t enough to finally scare her away. He’s sort of terrified that he’s ruined this one good thing before it’s had a chance to .. become .

  
  


Ben draws up her contact and can’t help how his fingers skitter over the touch screen before he works up the nerve to call.

  
  


***

  
  


Rey nearly chokes when Ben explains, vaguely, what his day’s consisted of so far, with the promise that he’d go into detail later. You know, at his mom’s house, where they were going for dinner.

  
  


She kinda wishes she could disappear then and there. Her cheeks are burning and though Ben’s not there to see it, she knows her mortification bleeds into the high and tight tone of her voice when she squeaks out an ‘okay’.

  
  


Fuckity fuck . Rey has never, in her limited dating experience, ‘met the parents’ and she’s loathe to admit that to Ben, who is a grown ass adult and therefor leagues ahead of Rey insofar as the comprehension and maintenance of a relationship.

  
  


What do you wear to a dinner? What do you say to the woman who knows her son nearly threw his career away to knot you? Best not to mention any of that, Rey knows that much. Doesn’t mean the prospect of facing Ben’s mom is any less daunting.

  
  


She got a ride from Rose back to Ben’s place, the radio blaring some song that’s turned to static as she rolls down the window, and sticks her head out. Anything to try and chase away this nervousness that’s making it hard to breathe.

  
  


It’s sprinkling a bit, late spring on Summer’s doorstep and the wind is just enough to keep the mild storm from turning into a thick blanket of humidity. The cool gives Rey a small bit of clarity, and she smiles her thanks up at the cloudy sky before curling back into her seat, ignoring the sidelong look of curiosity from her friend.

  
  


Rose’s advice is ‘just smile! you’ll be fine’, whereas Jessika hadn’t said a word so much as she cackled at Rey’s misfortune with a look of I told you so bright in her otherwise dark eyes.

  
  


She’s grateful to have such a supportive group of friends.

  
  


All of her clothes are packed, because she’s in the middle of moving into her fucking Teacher’s house because they’d accidentally gone and mated themselves and now? Now Rey has yet another mountain of shit she’s unprepared for, to climb. This means whatever outfit she fishes out of the disorganized lump she’d pushed into her suitcases, is going to be wrinkled. Does Ben having a clothing iron? If so, where?

  
  


\--- does Rey even know how to use one?

  
  


Instead of making the best of what she’s got (as Rey is known to do), she sits on the edge of this too-big bed, empty because the other half of her sleeping arrangement isn’t here just yet, and cries.

  
  


She’s not sad, she’s not mad. Rey’s just overwhelmed and admittedly, afraid. She’s earned the right to these tears because already her head starts to feel clearer and the pressure on her chest begins to abate the moment she stops trying to hold them in.

  
  


Downside: she didn’t hear Ben come home, because she thought that she was alone and therefore able to cry as loudly and dramatically as she damn well pleased. She regrets that the moment he steps foot in their bedroom, baleful eyes drawn with concern.

Rey lifts her arms; a childish gesture for a moment of weakness- and Ben steps into them, his own circling Rey’s shoulders to draw her against his chest. He smells all twisted up, not the usual calming and pervasive scent that’s been able to soothe Rey against all odds in the past. So now, scenting his disquieted mood and having it clash with her fears and anxieties, only spurs her tears, and Rey stains the front of Ben’s shirt with the mascara she’d forgotten wasn’t waterproof. His oxford is white and it leaves long, black streaks but after everything Rey can’t find it in herself to give a shit.

  
  


Besides , Rey thinks bitterly, this is all his fault anyway .

  
  


Too bad she’s not actually setting an ounce of blame on Ben’s shoulders. This journey of theirs had been mutually obtained self-destruction and nothing less. Even if denial of the intimate and domestic would have Rey reeling in the past, that damned mark on her throat has her lean into it, almost purring at the prospect of Ben’s touch.

  
  


She calms.

  
  


Not one word has been exchanged but somehow that makes the moment’s intimacy that much more significant. They’re beyond it, at times, where she can just breathe him in and let whatever sorrow or pain she’d been harboring, disintegrate. He’s a good man, Rey could have been bonded to someone far worse, with a far more insidious agenda -- he’s been kind only, affectionate and understanding at every turn.

  
  


Maybe it’s Rey who does not deserve Ben; but she’s instinctually obligated to try .

  
  


“So,” Rey hedges, slowly unbuttoning his shirt one notch at a time, “Dinner with your Mother .” Her tone implicating a whole lot more with her hands skirting the framework of his musculature. Ben cocks a brow, watching her with half lids and an expression that’s caught between aroused and bewildered.

  
  


It’s cute, and Rey smiles broadly, coquettishly .

  
  


For the second time that day, Ben Solo’s found himself doomed.

  
  


Rey isn’t sorry for that fact in the least. Besides, alleviating tension (physical or otherwise) can only help at this point. It’d be better than going over to his fucking mom’s house all hot and bothered because she’s mated to a brickhouse of an Alpha whose musk currently reeks of a power that’s unfamiliar, but feels as if she’s coming home every time she breathes.

  
  


“Make it worth my while,” Rey breathes against the column of his throat and she can feel Ben tense underneath her -- but he doesn’t resist. If anything, he’s quick to oblige. Stripping as quickly as his nerve-addled brain can manage.

  
  


So they fuck: it’s not like the times before, all hot, heavy, lost to the blur of need as it eclipsed want and romance and everything else that stood between them, and scratching that itch. This time Ben goes down on her and Rey loses track of time.

  
  


She’s right. Those lips of his? Designed to fit around her clit and suck the soul from her body. Rey’s trying really, really hard to not mark up his neck, or upper shoulders because they’d be visible -- as if the fading mark on his mating gland isn’t glaringly obvious. She occupies herself with clawing across his traps and fumbling as the silken sheets slip-slide between her outstretched hands.

  
  


It’s not an elegant tryst, but she cums five times and by the last she’s shaking so hard Ben pauses his thrusts -- afraid he’d done something to hurt her. Rey makes him spill in the seconds to follow, tightening around him, some unholy creature sent straight up from hell to rob him of all ration, and reason.

  
  


Rey blinks up at him, eyes glossy as bliss runs through her veins, some kinda a drug to which she’s hopelessly addicted. “We should shower,” Ben’s warned Rey that his mother’s an Alpha, which means the sex they’d just had? Would be dripping from her pores by the time they drove upstate. A shower would take the edge off, water and unscented soap; but Ben would undoubtedly wear a look of guilt, as if he’s not allowed to fuck the woman to whom he’s mated.

  
  


She has no idea what meeting a family entails, but she wants to present herself as something better. Someone with all the right parts in all the right places; someone who isn’t damaged by a past that even Ben doesn’t know the extent of.

  
  


Rey just wants one parent to be happy with her, to not think she’s unworthy or undeserving. She clings to Ben just a little bit tighter when the warm water moves to untangle the muscles run tight along her back and shoulders.

  
  


This is going to be the longest night of her life.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter switches POVs multiple times, but each new perspective is, as always, denoted by *** triple asterisks.

There’s no ‘how to’ guide for what to wear to a meet the parents' dinner -- and Rey doesn’t have any experience to fall back on.

  
  


She goes to Ben for guidance,

  
  


“You’ll look great no matter what.” He’s smiling, so Rey can’t quite be mad but her huff of annoyance has him focus on the cuffs of his shirt.

  
  


He’s useless on this front. Leaving Rey to fend for herself. Bollocks .

  
  


She’d at least had the foresight to unpack the few nicer outfits she has and is pacing the length of the bedside with nothing but a towel to her name as she inspects her options. Ben’s already dressed, casual - nice, dark blue slacks and a black button up that’s a smidge too tight around his chest and oh no that’s terribly distracting . He looks good, but Rey’s convinced he’d look good in damn near anything, which is unfair because she just feels frumpy, and like a child, playing pretend in her parent’s clothing anytime she tries to dress up.

  
  


Her options: a black dress, not too short with a modest neckline and a thick cotton fabric that’d keep her from looking like a hussy. The next, is a set of black slacks that made her legs go on for miles, paired with nude heels and a grey and white pinstripe blouse -- she’d worn that exact outfit to her interview for University, so maybe that’d be in poor taste but... Well , beggars can’t be choosers.

  
  


And finally, an A-line navy skirt that’s tight without looking like she’d been poured into it, and tan, linen top that’s airy, summery and cute -- Rey worries it’d only serve to highlight her youth and therefore give Leia more reason to focus on the age difference between herself, and her son.

  
  


There’s no real way to win, but she opts for the last choice because it unintentionally sort of looks like she and Ben had gone out of their way to coordinate, which has to be a good sign or something.

  
  
  


She’s not one to see Jesus in her toast or messages in the clouds but right now, being so completely and entirely out of her element, Rey’ll cling to just about anything as some small comfort.

  
  


Ben makes getting dressed an event ; he’s kissing the back of her neck when she asks him to clasp her necklace in place, hair held aloft. She shivers and smacks at him blindly from where he stands behind her. He’s chuckling, but then his fingers are draped across her waist and she can feel where they press through the thin fabric of her blouse, the skin beneath quick to heat and respond to him on a slip-pin trigger.

  
  


It’s a simple and understated sapphire held by a silver chain; the raw cut of the gem makes it look magical, but Rey’s always felt a touch more sophisticated while wearing it (and by extension, more adult).

  
  


She could use a healthy portion of that right about now.

  
  


There’s no hiding how anxiety taints her scent; all twisted up, a right mess as she grabs her purse, her phone, and her keys. Ben stops her before she manages to charge out to his car -- an arm snagging around her waist and spinning her so she’s facing him.

  
  


“ Breath , it’ll be fine. I promise.” The earnest set of his brows and the warm, sable eyes beneath them might just convince Rey if she isn't so dead set on the storm of nervousness and inferiority mixing a noxious cocktail in her gut. He sighs when the pep-talk proves to be less than motivational; and opts for something simpler, if not more effective.

  
  


Ben tugs Rey tightly to him, his head bowed so it’s beside her own, and he kisses the mark on her throat: his mark, to coax a sense of calming, of Alpha born security, out of Rey’s hindbrain until she smelled as she should.

  
  


“That’s not fair,” she mumbles against his shirt, and the rumble of Ben’s laughter only makes her scowl harder -- he presses the pad of his thumb between her brows, smoothing out the disgruntled wrinkle permanently carved in place.

  
  


“No, not fair.” Ben agrees, trailing his fingertips along the outside of her face until he’s hooked them all just under Rey’s chin, and tilts her head back so he can kiss her. “But effective.” Against her lips and crooked.

  
  


Well , Rey can’t argue that. Besides; the moment Ben steps back, the heat of his lips and the musk of his scent still warm on her tongue -- Rey can’t find it within herself to be or feel anything that isn’t a permeating, comforted calm.

  
  


Fucking Alphas.

  
  


Once more, Rey makes for the outside world, and once more, Ben stops her.

  
  


They’re going to be late and it’ll ruin everything, Rey’s decided, but this time he bends down to give her a real kiss - the kind that makes her toes curl against the stiff lining of her heels, and her head swim pleasantly. Oh .

  
  


“Can we leave now? Are you quite finished?” Rey gripes without any real heat. Ben nods, there’s something she can’t quite name lacing through his scent when a waft of it hits her. He’d moved past Rey in that dumbstruck, love-drunk delirium and opened the door, casting an expectant look her way. She blinks at him owlishly and waits for her brain to reboot before taking Ben’s offered hand, out of her new home and into the fire.

  
  


***

  
  


Ben hasn’t told Rey yet and the guilt is burrowing deep into his soul - it’s all he can do to lavish attention and affection onto the girl he’s somehow trapped in his life with his poor choices and misplaced need to feel wanted. To belong. Rey deserves so much more than he can offer; an Alpha that’s all rage in the places he’s meant to be soft and soft in the places where the swords wielded by spite, cut the deepest.

  
  


He’s smitten, enchanted, head over heels with this spitfire girl and every single moment and interaction they share codified that.

  
  


If you love her, she deserves transparency -- Ben’s silent the first half of the drive, preferring an internal dialogue that shapes his features, a harsh look he moves to soften when he catches sight of himself in the rearview mirror, and Rey, huddled into her seat, equally quiet.

  
  


“It’s a ways away,” Ben offers, trying, and failing, to keep his own nervousness from encroaching on that big brave Alpha facade. He’s admittedly just as inexperienced as Rey; at least insofar as having his partner meet his parents, or what that entire interaction entails. Ben’s not particularly close to his family himself, and with the precursor to this night being a litany of self-born issues, they’re both rightfully nervous. Even if Ben would fight tooth and nail not to show it, and comfort Rey as much as he’s able.

  
  


He’d told Leia as much, rather that he hasn’t told Rey. Ben regrets that he’s hidden anything from her, as her mate, her mentor, and now her … whatever it is they play it, Rey deserves more from him than this.

  
  


Some Alpha he is.

  
  


Ben’s knuckles go a bit white around the steering wheel but he’s working hard to keep his scent from reflecting the roiling tension in his gut. He cannot afford to make this worse.

  
  


“She’ll love you,” Ben fills the silence with a nervous laugh, “my mom, I mean. She’s an Alpha, a strong woman -- you’ll at least have that second piece in common.” Not to say Rey’s at all like any Omega Ben’s ever met. She’s a spitfire, hell on wheels and easily the smartest student out of all his lectures.

  
  


It’s safe to say assume his bias, but Ben means his praise no less for it.

  
  


Rey stirs to life, previously glass eyed as she watched the city turn to suburb, now a thicket of low fog and trees. “You mean that?” The earnest twist at the end (the disbelief) reminds Ben how lucky he is that he’s had the life he’s had and that regardless of his compulsory instincts, he wants to give Rey so much more.

  
  


He nods a stilted gesture. “I do,” his lips curl and he keeps his grip on the wheel steady so that one hand can reach over and rest lightly on her thigh. Ben’s thumb sweeps out over the soft fabric, eyes equally when they rove over the sight of her, so small and so insecure from where she’s curled into the passenger seat.

  
  


There’s a mysterious quality to the smile Rey gives in return but she hides it (poorly) and that tells Ben all he needs to know. It’s sincere .

“What’s she like?” Rey wonders, drawing a finger through the condensation on the window she rests her head against. More like fall than late spring here but the trees are spires of jade and though the sky is grey, bright blue peaks through the cracks in the clouds often enough to remind them it’s not quite June.

  
  


Ben doesn’t know where to start on that one, rolling up his sleeves (the shirt’s an unforgiving fabric that’d undoubtedly wrinkle, but he can’t quite manage to care), giving a thoughtful sigh as he parses through his thoughts.

  
  


“My mom’s -- well, a politician for starters, though I’m sure you know that.” Hell, he’s mentioned it conversationally in the past and it’s no secret that Leia Organa is a Senatorial powerhouse. “Her and my dad split up when I was about eight, and they’ve never really managed to make it stick, he’s Omega but they -- they didn’t get the timing right.” Ben’s a master compartmentalizer, you see, so it’s easy for him to discuss this but not so easy to delve any deeper than the words that flow, rote from his tongue.

  
  


Of course Rey, the Orphan , is staring up at him with a hopelessness that stops him in his tracks -- he nearly pulls over so he can right this wrong and assure her that every idealization she’s had of family life is absolutely spot on and she shouldn’t know of the genuine fight it is to maintain happiness on the daily.

  
  


“It’s not always so easy,” as if their relationship is the pinnacle of healthy, easy, and not at all the litany of obstacles it’s forced them over, through and around. Ben tries to smile at her, but Rey’s expression is unreadable enough that he turns away. “Love isn’t enough, people have to work for it, relationships are already complicated without the added issues of designations, the comments from the public and the stress of a highly demanding career. My parents are good people, they just weren’t .. always good for each other.”

  
  


Ironic, really. Ben’s envisioned himself as this horrible, big bad wolf that’s come and ruined Rey’s perfectly normal life. That he’s tainted something beautiful. Some one , beautiful.

  
  


Rey’s silence only makes his instincts grate roughly against this fake placidity - he knows she’s upset and with the air thick with pine he can only smell enough to sense she’s .. unnerved, on edge. He wants desperately to soothe her but is at odds with as to how .

  
  


Ben’s paralyzed by frustration and indecision, staring straight forward so the woman (his mate) at his side wouldn’t see how his dark eyes gleam, that they betray the stoicism that slips through his trembling hands no matter how desperately he tightens them against the steering wheel.

  
  


Once more he reprimands himself internally and once more Ben Solo flips a switch and adopts a masque of impassivity. One he knows Rey could see past with ease.

  
  


He sort of hopes she does, if only to stop him from this hapless, biologically driven posturing that has his head throbbing with the promise of a migraine and his stomach churning like the high seas. It’s a mess and he’s a mess.

  
  


Ben moves to apologize for the umpteenth time, but he’s stopped.

  
  


Rey’s hand rest over top his and gently pries it off of the wheel (his other’s got a solid hold, clearly, and he doesn’t swerve an inch), her fingers dwarfed when they slip through the gaps in his. The gesture is so soft, so heartfelt and sudden that Ben’s nervousness immediately dissolves and a sort of noise works past his teeth that he can’t quite name or explain away.

  
  


The hold she has on him (more than where they touch and deeper than either of them can understand just yet) presses the small scent glands in their wrists together, and Ben feels his lungs open up and takes a deep, rattled breath.

  
  


There’s no one quite like her, like Rey.

  
  


It’s enough to last them until the end of the drive, but as his tires switch from pavement to gravel and the familiar old growth pine trees lean in over the unfinished driveway, Ben’s brought back to the last time he’d driven down this road.

  
  


The last time he’d bothered coming home.

  
  


***

It’s a modest house, half hidden by a thick, gnarled oak whose branches frame the doorway from afar. Redwood paneling, shutters painted a forest green, and a wrap around porch with a bench swing sitting in the middle. It’s what anyone would envision if asked to picture a house in the woods, but this had all the markers of a home . Rey wouldn’t know, all hers before were temporary, small, rotted from the inside out.

  
  


This might as well be as fairytale as the romance that’s lead her here.

  
  


A car door slamming shut startles her, and Rey wheels around on her heels (nearly toppling over in the process) to stare pointedly at Ben. He shrugs his apology -- she doesn’t like loud, sudden noises and the tension that sits between them, and the front of the house is like a static fog, thick enough that she can feel it bodily but her line of sight is sharp and clear.

  
  


Rey almost wishes it hadn’t been, that just for a moment longer, their presence could be hidden and they might have a chance to breathe in the air that smells like the Christmas tree lot she’d wander through as a girl, pretending to be where she is now.

  
  


Funny , the olfactory responses as memories rush in unbidden and teeter on a precariously unpredictable edge. Like everything and anything could shift and Rey would realize it’s all been a dream.

  
  


The sensation fades almost as soon as it’s started, and Rey shakes her head to rid those thoughts from the forefront of it, messing up the chestnut waves she’d nervously set by braiding and unbraiding her hair all throughout the drive.

  
  


Oh well.

  
  


Old pine needles and gravel crunch unpleasantly as she teeters over to Ben, who has been giving her an inquisitive look since stepping out into the crisp, warm air. Deceptive ; it’s wet and hot and Rey feels betrayed by the whimsy of a forest that looked as if it harbored cold wind and wintertime revelry. Yes, she’s entirely aware that it’s May but Rey does not care .

  
  


Really, she’s just looking for an outlet. All this tension is making her stomach hurt, and Rey, who has been hungry since birth, is feeling the weight of it as it bottlenecks her appetite.

  
  


“You ready?” Ben asks, but it’s more of a bolstering statement than a question he expects an answer to.

She gives him one anyway, with a sharp lift of her brow and a gutting no written into the gradient of her hazel eyes. It makes Ben chuckle nervously, and when his hand slips into her open palm, Rey realizes he’s trembling, and just as worried as she is.

  
  


Somehow that’s both comforting -- she’s not alone in this -- as well as discouraging …

  
  


What’s got him worked up like this if it’ll ‘all be okay’?

  
  


There’s one thing Rey doesn’t appreciate -- it hides in the lines of his face, in the aversion of his gaze and the scripted meter whenever Ben speaks -- and that’s, that he’s hiding something. Or worse.

  
  


Ben’s lying.

  
  


But about what? And why ?

  
  


Rey’s not exactly the type to take the ‘holier than thou’ route, she’s been boldly, and baldly honest with Ben about damn near everything. So whatever it is, he either thinks she’s someone he cannot trust with the truth, or, and most likely (if a lifetime of abandonment and heartbreak is anything to go by) it’s a truth that includes her and is one that’s not hers to know.

  
  


Her nerves feel raw, set ablaze by this internal, paranoid revelation but she’s trying to work through them enough that Ben won’t catch her scent on the lazy breeze and pick apart the walls she’s throwing up as if they weren’t ever there in the first place.

  
  


They’re at the front door in a heartbeat and Rey’s own is louder than Ben’s knuckles rapping thrice against the threshold. The old wood flooring that undoubtedly lines the entirety of the house creaks, and betrays Leia in the moments before she turns the lock and hurriedly ushers them in.

Ben freezes, and while the air is full of unfamiliar scents, one, in particular, has seemed to stop the Alpha dead in his tracks.

Rey’s eyes go wide as his grow dark, and dread taints the brief respite she’d had when seeing Leia smile. She’d been so happy to see them. But now it’s fading and as Rey looks around to try and decipher this particularly unpleasant moment, she catches sight of an aging man, sitting on a long leather couch in the room across from the foyer.

  
  


“What the fuck is he doing here?” Ben’s voice breaks hard and fast, vengeful thunder on a tongue housed by his bared teeth. Of course, Rey’s caught in the eye of the storm and blindsided by her ignorance, so she leans into instinct which has her half-cowering behind the lip of one broad shoulder, flinching in and out of frame.

  
  


“Hey, kid.” A gravelly voice that could almost sound like Ben’s makes her hackles lift. The smell says omega, but the shit-eating smile and the way he saunters up to their group says…

  
  


“ Han .”

  
  


It’s a standoff.

  
  


No one moves to speak first and though the three words shared between father and son are as close to a greeting as either one would get, it still feels like Rey is surrounded by strangers, all of whom are incapable of engaging in conversation without major fallout.

  
  


Leia breaks the silence, clearing her throat and reaching to Rey, her palm soft on the younger girl’s arm. “C’mon, help me get the tea going and leave the boys to their pissing match.” It startles a laugh out of her, but Rey nods and is lead down a narrow, dimly lit hall that branches off into a labyrinth of rooms, more halls, but is flanked by an open-air kitchen that’s triple the size of her entire dorm room.

  
  


A kettle already sits on the stove, Leia switches the burner on and busies herself with pulling four mugs down from a low shelf and grabbing a box of tea. “Do you take milk or sugar?” It’s a proper English black, so Rey nods.

  
  


Leia’s sort of sizing Rey up, the small woman that she is she’s undeniably an Alpha, and undeniably Ben’s mom. The hard set of their eyes is nearly identical, with an aged warmth to hers that’s still molten, still young where it’s reflected in her son’s.

  
  


“So,” the hush of flame licking the underside of cast iron is the only sound besides the muffled arguing that both women are pointedly ignoring. “You and my son are in quite the predicament.” Which is, perhaps, the understatement of the century, but Rey nods once more all the same.

  
  


“You’re quiet,” Leia observes offhandedly, tapping her forefinger against her chin as she thinks. “I can see why my son likes you -- seeing as you’re both the nonverbal type.” Rey wonders what that ultimately means, but can’t repress the sheepish smile roused by what she equates to praise.

  
  


“I’m sorry if it’s rude,” in a rush, and Leia waves her apology away with a chuckle of her own.

  
  


“It’s not rude, Rey. I just want to get to know the girl who managed to turn my serial bachelor of a son into someone ready to throw his career away for a library tryst.” Rey’s cheeks are positively burning by then, but Leia’s kept her tone conversational, not at all as accusatory as the words might suggest.

  
  


“I didn’t -- we --” Leia hushes her with a lofted hand; her features have softened significantly at the sight of the younger girl’s distress.

  
  


Rey imagines it’s what a mother ought to look like, all warm with compassion and gentle with maternal care.

  
  


“Ben’s told me everything, it’s alright. I’m glad that you finally knocked sense enough into him that he called home. It’d been too long.” Rey’s unsure why Leia’s statement leaves her feeling more guilty than reassured, but she manages a smile and an approximation of a nod to indicate that she’s, at the very least, listening.

  
  


Rey chews on her lower lip; she doesn’t know much about his past, or his family’s but Ben was right about one thing: that Rey’s absolutely captivated by his mom.

  
  


“I know Ben wasn’t expecting his father to be here,” Leia’s sight to follow sounds aged, and weary. She knows that her son and Han haven’t had a strong relationship and more often than not they opted to ignore the other altogether instead of sparking arguments that were, by and far, inevitable. “But I’m a Senator, and the sort of help you need, I can’t have a hand in. Ben’s aware of my involvement in the set up of the University, hell, the scholarship you’re on is named for my Mother’s own work in with designation legislation.”

  
  


Rey can’t be surprised that Leia knows everything there is to know about her, or at least what can be learned through student files and basic, online information -- but it does catch her off guard enough that her brows furrow and Leia takes that as a sign she’s stepped a bit too far.

  
  


“What I’m saying is -- the less I know, the better. Ben’s already stepped in it now, and I can’t help him--” She runs her hand down her face, and just as she’s about to say something else that evidently took a steadying breath -- the kettle’s whistle interrupts them. Both women startle and laugh at it gently.

  
  


The conversation is left untouched as Rey moves around the marble island to help Leia set up the tea. Sugar and milk for her, black for Han, black for Ben, and Leia takes hers with just a small bit of cream. The irony of the two estranged men sharing identical taste isn’t lost on Rey, she smiles at the cups and saucers as they make their way back towards the living room set off from the foyer.

  
  


Han and Ben are still tense, but whatever they’d talked about had cleared the air enough that they’re sitting down on the same couch. On opposite ends of it, but it’s progress that Leia finds worthy of a soft, knowing grin.

  
  


“So, Ben,” Leia starts while Rey sets the appropriate mug of tea in front of them each, one by one (the clink of porcelain the only tell that the young omega’s hands still shake), and as she finishes, Ben tugs her down to sit beside her. Leia takes the armchair across from them all, ever the leader. “I was getting to know Rey a bit.”

  
  


Rey’s not sure what to call the look they exchange, and when Ben clears his throat, his scent turns sour and all that paralyzing fear she’d left at the door comes rushing back when he says:

  
  


“There’s something I have to tell you, Rey.”

***

Han is a no good, lying, absentee felon and the only reason Ben didn’t greet him with a right hook is Rey. He doesn’t want her to see him like this, all tense and tangled up - anger popping red around the rim of his vision.

  
  


Leia’s always been able to pick up on the signals that flare through her boy, and that’s when she chooses to remove Rey from the brewing tension.

  
  


With his mate gone, there’s little to restrain him.

  
  


“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ben redirects his earlier question to the man in question, spittle gathering in the corners of his mouth as his words snap violently.

  
  


If Han’s afraid of his son, he doesn’t show it. Even as time had made the quiet, lean boy into a stolid man a head taller than him. Han knows that beneath this hurt and heartache, this anger, resentment, and pain -- sits the little boy that went wide-eyed whenever he regaled stories of high-speed chases, and seedy bars with ne'er do wells packed in tighter than a can of sardines.

  
  


“Why else? Your mother invited me.” Dryly, with his Corellian drawl, if Ben wasn’t looking dead at him he’d have said the man he knew to be his father hadn’t aged a day. “Said you’re under some heat, wanted to know if I’d be interested in helping you out. She couldn’t give me details, you know how those political types are,” as if Leia isn’t a room over and fully capable of kicking his ass even now. “Prefer to have someone else dirty their hands -- and, well, mine haven’t been clean since I was learning my ABC’s.”

  
  


Ben supposes that, rationally , it’s a good call to not sully his mother’s name with his less than savory life choices and bringing in someone who’s got a laundry list of charges and six decades worth of experience to help him out.

  
  


It makes sense, again. But that doesn’t mean Ben has to look at all pleased about this unseen shift in events. Though realistically, he shouldn’t be surprised, his mother’s always been looking for a reason to bring them together, even while full well knowing their relationship was beyond repair.

  
  


“Fine,” Ben concedes, the tense set of his shoulders relaxing incrementally, inch by inch. He’s still got his arms crossed over his chest, more than anything it’s to keep himself from doing something he knows he’ll come to regret. “But don’t think I’ll owe you after this. I won’t. I won’t thank you, I won’t pretend that this fixes anything. So you better not delude yourself into it either.” Ben lists this off without inflection, no rage or hate and certainly no understanding. Han’s lost the right to any of Ben’s emotions.

  
  


He’s lost the right to care .

  
  


“Sounds about right,” Han rubs at his chin, grey stubble alight along tan skin with creases folded into it. Much to Ben’s dismay (and denial , at that) his parents are beginning to look their age, and therein, for all the grudges he holds, he’s coming face to face with their mortality. Every adult looks like a god, when you’re a kid, and every father, a hero. It’d been a sad day when he had to accept that Han wasn’t a good man. But it’s not as sad as the day you realize that they can bleed and feel and that they aren’t untouchable by time.

  
  


It’s not enough to warm him to Han, but he does gesture towards the living room with a lift of his hand. Noncommittal, but more notice he’s showed him in years.

  
  


And so, it’s Ben’s turn to tell a story. It’s the whole of it, the truth, the lies, everything he’s kept hidden from Rey and more on that, that he’s ashamed of it, ashamed that it worked and that he’s maintained his innocence in all of this. Rey’s the one he wants to be speaking to, Rey’s the one Ben owes the absolute truth.

  
  


What can he tell her, though? That he’d tried to get her removed from his class and in doing so, created a pitfall from which he had only escaped by way of more subterfuge? Telling Hux the truth as a preamble to a lie had essentially negated any hope in hell that they could pull off this deception from the start. He’d known it wouldn’t work, that day he held her, that day he’d told her they could survive this and she’d face no repercussion. When they first opened up one of many emotional doors.

When Rey placed faith in her Alpha’s ability to do right by her.

  
  


So Ben had done the unthinkable to keep that promise, to see her future shine brightly and not stripped away by the malcontent of a Beta given power over Alphas and Omegas alike.

  
  


He’d violated, not only his personal code of ethics, but the behavioral standards set in place for an authority figure with the genetic markers that make him superior. That make him powerful.

  
  


The sensation of raw and visceral control still sits at the back of his mind, like an addict’s inclinations he wants to indulge and indulge, in that euphoria -- the knowledge that he cannot be disobeyed is a potent drug, but Ben is not a man drunk on power, if anything he’s refusing to acknowledge his foray into the dark at all. Which is what led him to lie in the first place; to lie outright and by omission both.

  
  


Rey deserves better, and Ben’s tongue grows thick with shame, and silent all at once.

  
  


Han, of course, understands. What better man to spill your faults to than one whose comprised of them? Neatly packaged with a quick wit and a silver tongue.

  
  


“You gotta tell her, kid.” he doesn’t sound anymore pleased about it than Ben looks, but both men are cowed by love and the interwoven machinations of both displaying it an deserving it. Ben’s unsure of either. “Women always figure out the truth. Always.”

  
  


Ben rolls his eyes - he’s heard that one liner plenty, and mostly after Leia had, in fact, discovered some unsavory fact that Han had tried to keep hidden.

  
  


It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Rey - he does, god above knows that Ben wants to be baldly, and boldly honest with her. Cowardice hinders him; would she still want to kiss him awake if she knew what he’d done? If she knew the risks he’d taken to ensure that they could be together, for real, could very well strip her of her scholarship? Of her place in a prestigious university? Her student visa?

  
  


Would Rey be able to look her Alpha in the eye if she knew that he didn’t deserve an inch of her kindness, an ounce of her girlish laughter and sunset smile?

  
  


Han looks at Ben, and he knows that his father, for all his faults, wants what’s best for him -- hell, he’d failed at every possible turn with Leia and she still looked at him with a softness no one else could muster out of the senator.

Love can and has survived worse than this.

And Ben Solo, esteemed Professor, shit-brickhouse of an Alpha and emotionally stunted, hopeless romantic is very much in love with Rey.

  
  


He hopes she’ll feel the same, now that he’s looking at her with words like cinders on his tongue.

  
  


“There’s something I have to tell you, Rey.”

  
  


No turning back. No cutting corners.

  
  


Ben tells her everything. Every unseemly detail until his throat has gone tight and the burn of his lungs remind him to breathe .

  
  


Rey’s just staring at him with the crease between her brow deepening and he can smell, before he can see, the tears caught on the rim of her lashes. He moves to comfort her, to do anything other than look at her helplessly, like the sun rises and sets with the girl that held his heart in her hands. She flinches from him, and Ben’s stomach falls.

  
  


She’d told him once that she is slow to trust. Ben remembers the way she’d trembled when he held her in the soft silence of a library. He remembers how she startles at loud noises or how she mumbled in her sleep and all of this, all of her, feels as though it’s slipping away and he can’t stop it. Can’t be mad because it’s his fault. He’d lied. He’d hurt a girl already broken and reforged by hardships he can’t begin to understand.

  
  


Ben says, “I love you.” And it catches on his teeth; it sounds more like he’s begging her than confessing to how he truly feels.

  
  


Fuck .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a wild ride from start to finish and I hope I didn't disappoint with any one of your expectations. Thank you all so much for reading, I promise some fluff to make up for this in the next chapter. Assuming that Ben's able to earn any. Let me know your thoughts and feelings below, or something you hope to see in the next update. <3
> 
> edit: here's some clarification as to what 'Ben's lie' is.
> 
> Ben lied when he told Rey about the loophole (re: pre-mated couples aren't beholden to University rules insofar as the Alpha/Omega dynamics), because he'd ALREADY talked to Hux to get Rey out of his class, and she doesn't know that, so Hux knows that they aren't actually together, which was why Ben had to use an Alpha command to get him to shut up about it in the end.
> 
> Rey doesn't know any of this, all she's aware of is that Ben was going to 'fix it' and talk to Hux and they'd have to 'appear mated' / fake-dating to maintain that facade, but Rey was interested in ACTUALLY dating and Ben didn't have the heart to tell her after the fact that he'd tried to get rid of her. (albeit, it's before they ever slept together, but still).
> 
> I've been asked about this several times on and off ao3 so I wanted to clarify/prevent further confusion. I'm sorry it wasn't clear enough in the chapter.


End file.
